


Torture Without You

by IndelibleEvidence



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Angst, Confused Team is Confused, F/M, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, No One Can Make Kurt Weller Feel Worse Than Kurt Weller Can, On the Run, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Referenced Past Sexual Threats, References to Jane sleeping with Oscar, References to Kurt sleeping with Allie, Rich Dotcom Ships Jeller, The CIA Being Evil Torturous Bastards, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 71
Words: 148,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndelibleEvidence/pseuds/IndelibleEvidence
Summary: When Jane Doe is taken from FBI custody by the CIA, Kurt Weller is left with more questions and regrets than answers. But he won't stop looking until he finds her, and when he does, he'll demand the truth she never had the chance to give him the night of her arrest.Jane has weathered three hellish months at a CIA black site, enduring daily torture and interrogation by Deputy Director Jake Keaton. Her escape plan is almost ready, and when she gets out of there, she plans to hunt down Shepherd and find the answers to all of her unanswered questions. Doing it without FBI support will be difficult, but Weller burned that bridge when he threw her to the CIA. Now she's on her own.Jane Doe/Kurt Weller, beginning just after the season one finale cliffhanger and diverging from canon.





	1. Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing for the Blindspot fandom, and my first fanfic in over four years, so I'm a little rusty. Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things, though I know this fic is a little slow to start. :) Feedback, good or bad, always very much appreciated.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Taylor Shaw wasn’t the first person Kurt thought of when he woke up.

Even when Jane had been left for him in Times Square, his name emblazoned on her back in permanent ink, thoughts of her had been entwined with the hope that she was Taylor. After the DNA test had seemed to prove it, he’d thought of her as actually being his childhood friend, even when the tooth isotope test Patterson had run contradicted it.

Even though they’d all called her Jane, his mind had always clung to that stubborn, irrational belief that she was Taylor.

Well, now he knew what had happened to Taylor Shaw. He would always hurt, always privately nurse that grief and misplaced guilt, but now he could put the mystery to rest with her child-sized bones and gaudy plastic boots.

Now the mystery of Jane Doe was free to tear him apart anew. Her tear-streaked, stricken face was the first thing his waking mind recalled, and reality thudded into the pit of his stomach.

His head was killing him, yesterday’s self-medication having given way to a hangover that was as much emotional as it was alcohol-induced. He was tempted to take the day off sick, but Jane was in holding, waiting to be interrogated, and the only way he’d ever be able to relax again was if he had answers.

As he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the shower, his memory reminded him that he could have had those answers last night, if he’d actually listened to a damn word she’d said. Instead, he’d arrested her on the spot.

* * *

  _“I know you hate me right now, but please. Let me tell you what I know.”_

_He shoved her in the backseat of his car, hands cuffed behind her back. Ridiculously, some distant part of him wanted to buckle a seatbelt around her in case he totalled the car on the way to SIOC. He was in no fit state to drive, hadn’t been since he’d downed those beers with Sarah in a premature celebration of his father’s innocence._

_He was going to drive anyway. He had to get this done tonight._

_Gritting his teeth, he slammed the door on her next protest and got into the driver’s seat. The car still faintly smelled of the mud from Taylor’s gravesite, drying on the floor mat under his feet, and his hand faltered for an instant before he turned the key in the ignition._

_“Kurt.” Jane shifted in the backseat, no doubt trying to catch his eye in the rearview mirror. He never had been able to resist those eyes. She probably knew it, too. How much had she manipulated him over the past few months? God, he’d been so blind._

_He ignored her, but wasn’t surprised in the least when she spoke up again a few minutes later._

_“I didn’t know I wasn’t her until today. I swear to God, if I’d had any idea—”_

_“I can’t hear this right now, Jane.”_

_“You_ have _to believe me—”_

_She’d always been stubborn, strong-willed almost to a fault. She’d never been shy about arguing with him, and at times he’d even enjoyed their heated exchanges. Right now, though, everything he thought he’d known about her was collapsing around them, and he just couldn’t bear to add another wrecking ball to the demolition of his trust in her._

_“I don’t believe a word you say anymore. If you ever had an ounce of respect for me, then listen to me now. I will take whatever statement you give in the interrogation room tomorrow, and then I’ll decide where to go from there. Right now, I’m taking you in, I’m processing your arrest and I’m going home to sleep.”_

_Jane was silent. When he risked a glance in the rearview mirror at her, all he caught a glimpse of was the curl of her hair around her ear, the tautness of her jawline as she gazed out of the side window._

_He took that for agreement and gave a mental sigh of relief, ignoring the twinge at the back of his consciousness that told him he was making a mistake._

_Tomorrow. He’d deal with it all tomorrow._

* * *

 

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Still only half-dressed, Kurt abandoned his search for a clean shirt to focus on Patterson’s call.

Patterson’s voice was harried, as though she were hitting her multi-tasking limit. “I get notified on my phone every time something in our system relates to Jane. Two CIA agents discharged her from holding just over an hour ago, and by the time I managed to speak to someone there, they’d already taken her out of the building.”

Her voice softened, betraying her concern. “Without Mayfair around to protect her, the CIA can pretty much do anything they want to Jane unless we get the director to step in. Do you think they’ll put her in a black site?”

Reality fuzzed around the edges as the possibilities pressed in. Kurt held them at bay, focusing on the call. “Pellington wants to shut down the whole tattoo operation. He won’t do a damn thing to help Jane.”

“Then it’s up to us, right? Okay, I’ll…”

As she rattled off a list of possible ways she could track Jane out of the building, Kurt tuned out, shrugging on a clean shirt and mechanically going through the rest of the steps to getting ready for work. After a minute or two, she went quiet with a hesitant, “Weller?”

“Do what you can. I’ll be there in thirty.” He ended the call without waiting for her acknowledgement, tucked the phone into his jacket pocket and left his apartment in a half-daze.

It wasn’t until he got into his car that it really sank in.

_Gone. Jane’s gone._

He’d made a bad call last night, so focused on his own anger and betrayal that he’d lost sight of the bigger picture. Mayfair would have kept him in line, but God knew where Mayfair was right now. Hopefully somewhere without US extradition, keeping her head down until he and his team could come through for her.

Maybe Jane had had information he could have used. Maybe he’d condemned both Jane _and_ Mayfair with his own petty, short-sighted emotions. If he’d just listened to her…

The CIA would never get useful intel from Jane. On top of her natural stubbornness, she had military training to help her resist physical interrogation at the hands of the enemy. But they’d break her trying. Kurt’s imagination supplied him with an image of Jane suspended from a hook in a dark room, being beaten by some black-site thug who got off on torturing people. Blood and bruises almost obscured the tattoo on her neck, but her jaw was set with steel determination.

Kurt had wanted her to suffer last night, but not like this. Never like this.

He hit the accelerator.


	2. Maybes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has regrets. A lot of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not planning to do a day-by-day of imprisonment for three months, but Jane needs her share of the angst. ;)

“You were never Taylor Shaw.”

And just like that, the identity Jane had clung to so desperately had fallen in tatters around her. In its place had settled a heaviness in her chest that wasn’t just the result of smoke inhalation.

There was no one in the world she could trust now. Not Oscar, who’d hidden the truth from her and outright lied all along, right up until the night she’d killed him. Not her team at the FBI; they’d handed her over to the CIA without a second thought as soon as Mayfair wasn’t there to prevent it.

Not even Kurt Weller, who’d let them take her without even giving her a heads-up. He’d left last night with a terse but sincere promise to give her a fair hearing today, but two CIA agents had arrived in his place. None of the people she’d thought were her friends had come to say goodbye or even cuss her out for her betrayal.

On the floor of her chilly cinderblock cell that could have been in New York or the North Pole, Jane wrapped her arms around her knees and willed her torturers to come back for a second round. Any amount of physical pain was more welcome than being left alone with the demons in her mind.

What had Weller found out that had made him go back on his word? Had the FBI found Mayfair’s body, or something to suggest she’d been there when Mayfair had died? Surely he couldn’t have just abandoned her to her fate just because she wasn’t who she’d honestly believed she was.

“Goddamn you, Oscar,” she whispered into the silence, closing her eyes.

And goddamn herself for all the bad choices she’d made. How could she have been so stupid? She should have told Weller the moment Oscar had given her that first ‘mission’. Or at least the second, the GPS chip. Sure, there was no way she could have known in advance where it was all heading, but her gut feeling about him had directly contradicted the memories of her old life with him. Until she’d grown to rely on the memories and information he’d been drip-feeding her with, and she’d let her libido do the thinking for her instead.

If she was honest, she’d been a little stung about Kurt getting back together with his ex, too. If not for how happy he’d seemed around Allie, maybe Jane wouldn’t have let herself get so spun around by Oscar. Her fiancé had known exactly how to touch her, stoking her attraction into chains of mind-blowing orgasms, lending authenticity to those hazy memories of their relationship in their past life. She’d been addicted to the potential of the information he could give her about herself long before they’d started sleeping together. But if Kurt had tried a second time to set up a meeting with her after their first kiss, maybe she wouldn’t have wound up on that pool table with Oscar. Maybe she would have confided in Weller about him.

But she’d known, right? Known, deep down, that she couldn’t be the kind of person Kurt Weller would love. From the instant she’d remembered gunning down a praying nun in a cathedral, she’d suspected the kind of person she’d been: the kind of person Weller would never love. She wasn’t good enough for him and his unwavering moral compass. And maybe that was why it had been so easy to turn to Oscar.

Kurt might have loved her if she’d been Taylor Shaw. But that was just another lie he’d never forgive her for. She shouldn’t have pretended to remember their childhood together, but she’d so desperately wanted to provide the confirmation he needed.

“If I could do it all over again,” she said to the empty room, just to ground herself with the sound of her own voice, “I’d go to the park, not the radio tower. I’d go, and Kurt would be there, and I’d tell him about how the CIA grabbed me, and how Oscar killed Carter. And then Kurt would kiss me and tell me we’d figure it all out together, and we’d work out what the hell my old self’s plan was and stop it.”

 _And we’d all live happily ever after,_ a caustic mental voice that wasn’t quite her own taunted. _Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Princess Doe. You know they’d blame you once they found out you let Markos inject you with that poison. They’d just be waiting for you to turn on them. At least the way things played out, you got to live as Taylor Shaw for a little while. You got to kiss Weller twice. Was it worth ending up locked up in this hellhole, waiting for them to come back and start waterboarding you again?_

_You can’t change the past. So come up with a plan. Get out of here. Put Weller behind you. And find Shepherd._

Jane struggled to her feet, joints protesting the long hours of inactivity and the beating she’d taken before she’d been thrown in here. She began to prowl the perimeter of the small room like a caged animal, testing the integrity of each cinderblock she could reach, looking for loose mortar where she could prise away a weapon.

Nothing. The CIA weren’t that stupid.

Disheartened, she nudged the drain cover in the middle of the floor with one toe, more out of idleness than actual hope. It slid a fraction of an inch backward, and she ducked down to examine it more closely.

It didn’t take much work to free the cover from the drain. The previous occupant of her cell had obviously started the process, but had either given up or been killed before they’d succeeded. The drain spout was barely wide enough to accommodate her hand, and a sulphuric waft of air made her nose wrinkle in reflexive disgust, but the drain cover in her hand was heavy, solid. It wouldn’t make a weapon, not on its own, but maybe…

_Play the long game._

She carefully replaced the drain cover, hoping they didn’t have any hidden cameras in the room that had registered her interest in it, and returned to a seated position. From the back of her mind came the memory of a book she’d read over and over as a child, about a rightful king imprisoned in a tower while his brother usurped his position as ruler. The king had taken strands from the cloth napkins that came with his meals every day, and woven them into a rope long enough for him to escape out of the window down the outside of the tower. Okay, so she had no napkins and no window, but she didn’t need a rope as long as the one in that story…

It was going to take time, but maybe she could come up with a cloth handle for her makeshift mace head. One that her captors wouldn’t immediately know was missing from her clothing.

Carefully, she teased out a few threads from the hem of her shapeless grey shirt. It would take forever to get anywhere, but it was a start.


	3. Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reads in his team on Jane's disappearance.

“Thanks for coming in here. I wanted to keep this between us for now.” Weller took a seat at the head of the conference room table. The rest of his team settled down, their eyes all on him.

“What’s going on?” Reade asked, and Kurt took a breath, preparing to get this over with.

“Wait, we’re not gonna wait for Jane?” Zapata popped the tab on her soda can, frowning.

Just the sound of Jane’s name made him flinch inwardly, but he steeled himself and shook his head. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, amongst other things. Let me do this in the order that makes sense.”

They waited, Reade and Zapata sharply attentive now that Jane’s absence had been noted. Patterson, who’d still been in the building when he’d brought Jane in last night, gave him a sympathetic look that he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.

“You all know my father died a couple of days ago. On his deathbed he confessed to the murder of Taylor Shaw.”

“I thought _Jane_ was Taylor Shaw.” Reade sat forward, catching on.

Kurt shook his head, bitterness welling up inside him. “I found Taylor’s body yesterday where he told me to look, up at the camping site we used to go to as kids. Her bones and rain boots and her favourite doll—” He bit down on the rest, knowing his voice would crack if he carried on.

“God, Weller, I’m so sorry,” Zapata murmured.

“But didn’t Jane have Taylor’s DNA?” Reade asked.

“Someone must have switched Taylor’s sample out for Jane’s in the original case files. Twenty-five years ago, nothing was computerised, so they didn’t even need to hack in.” Patterson shook her head. “I should have thought of that possibility sooner.”

“Not your fault.” _It was mine. They knew Taylor was important to me and they wanted to make sure I kept Jane close by. As if the tattoo of my name on her back wasn’t enough of a reason for that._

“So whoever tattooed Jane also wanted you to believe she was Taylor,” Zapata continued. “Does Jane know? That you found Taylor?”

Weller nodded. “She was somewhere else when I went to her place looking for her last night. She came home around one in the morning and I arrested her.”

Patterson sighed. The other two stared at him like he’d grown an extra head.

“For what?” Reade asked blankly. “Not being Taylor Shaw?”

“But we were the ones who told her she was,” Zapata said. “I don’t get it. Why would you arrest her? You think she knows more than she’s telling?”

“Full disclosure: I was drunk and pissed off last night. I wasn’t thinking straight and I made a bad call. Jane pretended a while back that she remembered fishing with me and my father. I don’t know how; must have been a lucky guess. But she lied, and I guess it was just one thing too much to cope with. If I could do it again, I would have listened to what she had to say and then made my decision about arresting her, but it’s too late for that now.”

“So we interrogate her, see if she knew she wasn’t Taylor all along?” Reade was still struggling with the puzzle pieces. “You think she knows more than she’s saying about Mayfair’s disappearance, too?”

Patterson took over. “The CIA checked Jane out of holding last night. I tried to track them, but…they’re the CIA. They know how to stay off the radar. Jane could be anywhere right now.”

“I don’t know what to think, here. Are we looking for Jane as a suspect in Mayfair’s disappearance, as a victim we need to get back from the CIA before they make her vanish forever, or as a missing asset of the FBI?” Zapata got to her feet, ready to get to work.

“All of the above.” Weller got up, too. “Don’t tell anyone I found Taylor’s body. Her mother’s dead. Sarah and I know the truth. No one else needs to know my father really did kill him. I’ll bury her somewhere else, somewhere nice, and that’s all that’s needed. Am I clear?”

Nods all round. He couldn’t bear the sympathetic understanding radiating from them all right now, so he made for the door. “I’m going to talk to Pellington.”

“Weller.” Reade stopped him before he could complete his escape. “What did Jane say last night?”

“I wouldn’t let her talk.” The admission sapped some of the tension from Kurt’s shoulders, and he rubbed a hand across his face to hide some of his shame. “She came in covered in soot and bruises, looked like she’d been in a fire and a fistfight, and wanted to tell me what had happened. I wouldn’t let her. I told her about Taylor and I accused her of lying to us… to me. Then I arrested her and told her I’d listen to her side of things today. And now she’s gone.”

“She could have seen Mayfair,” Zapata said, a tinge of accusation in her voice.

“You think I don’t regret it now?” He turned on her, turned on all of them, knowing he was out of control but not caring. “You think that didn’t already occur to me? I have no idea what our next move is, so why don’t you get out there and find me somewhere to go?”

Both Zapata and Reade left without a word, their sullen demeanours confirming that they blamed him for his faulty judgment. Patterson lingered behind, putting her hand on Weller’s arm.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry.” She was the only one left in the room to apologise to.

“You got your heart broken, Weller. By your dad and by Jane. I know they both understand that; they’re just worried about Jane and Mayfair.”

“I have no excuse. I wasn’t objective and now Jane is suffering for it. Even if she was holding out on us, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like a terrorist by the CIA.”

“So let’s get back to finding a way to save her. You go to Pellington; I’ll check with the fire service for reports of large blazes last night.”

“Thanks, Patterson.”

She gave him a small smile. “We’ll get her back, and keep looking for Mayfair. Everything will work out.”

Weller squeezed her shoulder and left the conference room, wishing he could believe it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Kurt really didn't have much of a logical criminal basis to arrest Jane when he did, so I wanted to have his team question it a little bit. You suck, Kurt. (I mean, okay, you would have had reason to arrest her if you'd known about Oscar and the side missions at that point, but you didn't.)


	4. Another Day in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane survives another day in captivity, but not without new wounds, both psychological and physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jane! I really do! However, the CIA does not love Jane. :/

Waterboarding. Beating. Electrocution. Strappado. Sleep deprivation. Dehydration. Starvation. Broken pinkie fingers and reeds inserted under the nails.

Nothing that would leave permanent damage, though, Jane noticed. Nothing that would mar her tattoos. It seemed the CIA was just as paranoid about there being information that would require the originals to be preserved as the FBI had been, though in a completely different way. Patterson had just advised her against tattoo removal. These assholes were holding off on the chemical burns and cutting.

A memory from her old life kept recurring as she weathered each day of torment. A bearded man—not Markos—coaching her on how to resist torture before inflicting pain on her. “Pain is a dream,” he kept telling her.

It became her mantra, repeating inside her head as the guy in charge fired questions at her and then enlisted the help of two other men to punish her for not giving the answers they wanted. Who was she really? Why had the people who’d tattooed her sent her to Kurt Weller? Who was she working for, and what was their plan?

It would have been laughable if it weren’t such a violation of everything the civilised world was supposed to stand for. After all, Jane had no idea who she was, how she’d selected Weller, what phase two was all about. All she knew was that she’d been a willing participant in the plan. If she chose to believe Oscar —which she wasn’t sure she should, even though the information he’d given her while he’d been planning to re-erase her memory seemed genuine—all she had to go on was that someone called Shepherd was in charge, and that she’d been highly ranked enough in the organisation to plan and execute her own missions. Including the one to wipe her own memory.

She was keeping those tidbits to herself, though. When she got out of here, she was going to find Shepherd and get her own answers. Even though she was becoming more and more convinced that she’d been a domestic terrorist in her former life.

“What’s your real name, Jane Doe?” Maybe it was just the dim lighting, but the man in charge of interrogating her sort of reminded her of a weasel. He definitely had less integrity than one.

She spat out blood from her split lip and scowled up at him. “What’s yours?”

“You can just call me Jake.”

_He has a family, then, or people he cares about. That’s why he won’t give me his full name. He’s protecting them._

“Now it’s your turn,” he prompted, though surely he knew she’d just been sassing him for a respite between blows.

“You can call me Jane.” She tried a sweet smile. It tore her split lip open farther, but she held the expression anyway out of sheer stubbornness.

“Yeah, that was a long shot.” Jake returned her smile and slugged her in the stomach, hard enough to wind her.

 _Pain is a dream_ , she reminded herself, gasping and choking. _And one day this asshole will get what he deserves._

As she tried to get her breath back, Jake picked up some kind of bludgeoning instrument. Her eyes were watering too hard for her to focus on exactly what.

“What are you holding out for, Jane? It’s been weeks. Surely you don’t think Deputy Director Weller is coming to save you?”

The sound of Weller’s name was far more painful than the starburst of agony in her left shin as Jake swung his makeshift club. She let out a strangled yell, as much out of frustration as from pain.

“He has other concerns now, after all. He’s helping to run the entire FBI in Mayfair’s place. Where is Bethany Mayfair, by the way?”

He swung again, the impact against her right shin making her dizzy. She twisted on the hook she was suspended from, barely realising she was moving.

“It’s probably none of my business, but did you and Weller sleep together? He seemed pretty invested in you for a while. What made him arrest you that night? Did you cheat on him?”

Jane gritted her teeth and imagined a million weasels swarming up behind Jake and ripping the flesh from his smug, ferret-like face.

“He was the one who called us in to take you into custody, you know. Whatever your plan was with that tattoo of his name, you really screwed it up, huh?”

She’d agonised over whether Kurt had invited the CIA to take over, or whether it had been Pellington who’d given her up. Pellington had seemed more probable, since he’d taken away her bureau consultant status and revoked her access to the building just a couple of days earlier. To hear that it had been Kurt knocked her world askew.

_Don’t let him see that he got to me. Stay strong. Pain is a dream, even this kind of pain._

Jane swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to put all her weight back on her battered legs, letting her physical pain eclipse the psychological.

Jake sighed. “I’m really starting to get bored with this stoic Navy SEAL act. Which black ops unit were you with, by the way? I’m running into nothing but redactions and blank searches when I try to find you. Or were you even a SEAL at all? Did you wash out during training?”

She laughed at him, remembering again the fake struggle she’d put on during her SEAL training, and the far from fake conflict with her own pride at having to ring the bell to signal that she was giving up. Her CO had enlisted her with Orion that very evening, but Jake clearly wouldn’t find any indication of that in the CIA’s intel. Maybe it was above his clearance level.

Maybe it was above everyone’s clearance level.

With a grunt of frustration, Jake swung the metal bar right at her thighs, laying a stripe of fire across them both at once. While Jane swung from her hook, groaning, he addressed the agents by the door. “Take her back. No food or water unless she decides to start talking.”

_Breathe. It’s a bluff. He won’t let me die._

She barely remembered the excruciating journey back to the cell, her newly forming bruises pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her captors dropped her on the concrete floor and left her there, the door slamming shut behind them.

The triumph of having survived another session with Jake without giving them anything they could use got her through the first couple of minutes, giving her enough strength to use the bucket in the corner that served as her bathroom. After that, the endorphin rush faded and she stretched out on her back, getting as comfortable as possible and letting the waves of pain take her.

_Weller was the one who called the CIA. I broke his trust and he abandoned me. They all did._

Instinctively, she rolled onto her side and curled into a ball as the sobs she’d been suppressing for weeks seized her battered body. If she had ever felt more betrayed and heartbroken, it had been in another life, one she didn’t remember.


	5. Closer to the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wallows in his regrets, and comes across a new lead.

Kurt pushed aside the last of his paperwork with a sigh. It was almost two months since Jane had disappeared into CIA custody, and he’d taken to drowning out thoughts of her with bureaucracy. The B in FBI was definitely accurate. How Mayfair had balanced work with the rest of her life, he had no idea. Apart from a couple of no-strings-attached nights with Allie, he’d spent every night since Jane had gone working late.

Pellington was probably over the moon at the efficiency of the department, but Pellington could go to hell as far as Weller was concerned. He’d forced Kurt to take this job in the first place, and then he’d refused to negotiate with the CIA for Jane’s release. He’d been close to walking out in sheer frustration, but without work, without his team, what was left in his life? Sarah and Sawyer were in Portland. His mother had taken off when he was a teenager. His father was dead, and with him the mystery that had preoccupied him for twenty-five years.

Weller suspected that if he quit the FBI, he’d just sit at home and drink himself to death. Not to mention, he’d lose access to every resource he had to find Jane.

The day’s administration dealt with, he toyed with the idea of grabbing a bottle of something strong and taking it home to nurse, but he’d watched his father drunkenly slobbing around on too many occasions to be comfortable with the idea. Instead, he went into Patterson’s lab to double-check she had followed his orders to actually go home before midnight.

Wonder of wonders—she actually had. She’d left an open folder on her desk, and the familiar sight of Jane’s three-tone tattoos drew him over to take a closer look.

Patterson had long since given up trying to track the CIA’s movements out of the building with Jane, instead turning back to the tattoos during her time between cases. Her hopes were that since one other tattoo had led to a CIA black site, maybe there were directions to others, and one of them would be where Jane was being kept.

It seemed a long shot to Weller, but he hadn’t told Patterson to stop. Maybe in a few more weeks he’d be strong enough to do that.

He ran his finger over the familiar and yet incomprehensible designs in the photographs.

_I don’t miss her. I just want answers._

Even as he thought it, he was laughing at himself, the sound loud in the silence. Learning that Jane wasn’t Taylor Shaw didn’t change the fact that he’d been in love with her. Not just interested. Not even just infatuated. When he remembered her smile, his chest ached. No matter how she’d lied to him, he couldn’t help but miss her.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a conscious decision to go to the safehouse Jane used to live in. He just found himself there. It had been vacant since that night, but although it didn’t seem likely Jane would ever come back, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to order some agents to clear it out. All of Jane’s stuff was still here, including the sketches and notes about her own tattoos that she’d pinned up on the wall. Kurt stared at them blankly, his memory taking him back to happier times.

He should have kissed her the night she’d put his hand over her heart and whispered, “You’re my starting point.” He should have kissed her every day since, grabbed onto her and not let go, shown her how much she meant to him in every way he could think of. Maybe it would have hit him harder to learn that she wasn’t Taylor, but he couldn’t think of anything worse than this hollow wishing for an intimacy they’d never shared, one he knew they’d both wanted.

Now it was too late.

Kurt wandered through to the bedroom and realised that her belongings were still strewn around from when he’d ransacked her apartment for clues as to her identity. He hadn’t been particularly careful.

He straightened the place up as much as he could from memory. It didn’t take long; Jane didn’t own enough to be messy, and people with military training usually couldn’t abide clutter anyway. Putting the room to rights alleviated only a little of his guilt, and he sat on the end of her bed, sighing.

“What the hell were you into, Jane? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

It had been after she’d kissed him that she’d changed. She’d been so desperate for connection when they’d first met; he’d hung back out of instinct as much as professional courtesy, knowing she was in a vulnerable state and not wanting to take advantage. Even though he’d picked up her signals that she found him attractive, he’d tried and completely failed to remain objective. When she’d slipped past her security detail to kiss him on the street outside his apartment building, his resolve had crumbled to dust.

But the next morning, her guard had been up. He’d written it off as nerves over where their relationship was heading, but then she’d stood him up at the park that night. His pride had been wounded enough that he’d pretended he hadn’t gone either, but something was telling him in hindsight that he’d fucked up irrevocably by pushing her away.

Something had happened that night, after that kiss. She hadn’t been quite the same since, and he’d thought it was his fault.

Now he thought back through all of the strange ups and downs of Jane’s behaviour, he was pretty sure it was something else. Not that he had the faintest hope of knowing more without asking her.

With a groan, he lay back on the bed, kicked off his shoes to scoot backward to the pillows. Her residual scent filled his head and he closed his eyes, emotions both bitter and sweet rolling through him.

If he could just talk to her one more time…

He moved one arm up to rest his head against, and something rustled beneath his touch. Paper.

Kurt rolled over and stuck his hand inside the pillowcase, hoping Jane wasn’t just hiding one of the erotic novels he’d once accidentally discovered his sister liked to read. When he pulled out the notebook he’d seen her with on several occasions, his heart leapt with rekindled hope.

There were many pages torn out, and he suspected they now formed the collage of sketches and notes she’d set up on the wall in the living room. Kurt turned back to the beginning of the book and went through the pages that remained intact one by one.

Some of the notations were for the cases they’d solved, information Jane had deemed irrelevant to the overall mystery of her tattoos’ origins. There was also a list that made him smile, of all the foods she’d tried that she’d hated. _PEEPS? – NEVER AGAIN!_

He turned the page and blinked at the image of his own face, sketched and shaded in loving detail on the paper. For her to have taken so much time over it, he must have been on her mind as much as she’d been on his.

“Ahh, Jane,” he murmured.

There were a few more sketches here and there—a coin from a country he didn’t recognise; the outline of a radio tower; a helicopter with ‘so apparently I can fly these?’ scrawled underneath.

Then another list.

_Things I can definitely not do:_

_\- Sing_

_\- Speak Spanish_

_\- Win at Uno Attack_

_\- Play instruments, probably? No muscle memory for piano._

_\- Complicated math equations_

_\- Fashion, apparently (thanks, Zapata!)_

Smiling a little, Kurt turned the next page and froze.

The portrait of a man he’d never seen before stared out at him, as detailed as the previous sketch of his own face had been. Underneath was a single word; a name. _Oscar._

If Jane had remembered this man, why hadn’t she given the sketch to Patterson for a facial recognition search? If he was someone she’d met since she’d come into Kurt’s life, why hadn’t she ever mentioned him?

He turned the page uneasily and found a sketch of Jane’s head and shoulders, with longer hair and no tattoos. And below, a phrase that upended everything he thought he’d known for the second time in two months.

_You did this to yourself._


	6. Making Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team begins to realise how deep Jane's betrayal might have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a little bit exposition-heavy. I wanted to get the team all on the same page before Jane pops back up.

“You think that’s Jane’s ex-fiancé?” Zapata asked, studying the sketchbook page with the drawing labelled ‘Oscar’. “Yeah, he definitely looks like her type. Not bad at all.”

Weller tried not to glower as Patterson brought up the scanned image on one of her lab screens. Before he could say anything, Reade stepped forward.

“I’ve seen this guy before. That’s the guy in the CCTV footage, the one who drove Carter’s car to where the cops found it. Mayfair was trying to track him down before she got framed.”

They were all silent for a moment, each of them processing what that meant: that Jane was associated with Carter’s killer, or at least with an accomplice who’d disposed of his car.

“Do we really think Jane is involved with the people who threatened Reade’s and Mayfair’s lives? Who framed Mayfair for murder?” Patterson asked, one step ahead as usual.

Weller cleared his throat to try to dispel all emotion from his voice. “I think we have to assume so.”

Patterson’s expression reminded him of a kicked puppy’s. “But she’s our friend. Right? She was as shocked about Mayfair as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, or a really good actor.” Zapata scowled, on the warpath now. “We have to track her down. She could have been there when Mayfair got shot. Or she might have even been the one to shoot her.”

_No._

Weller’s every instinct rejected the idea that Jane had put Mayfair’s life in jeopardy. It just didn’t add up. That she was involved with the people who had in some way, though—that looked more and more likely.

“Let’s stick to what we know. I also found a second drawing that stood out. Patterson?”

Patterson brought up the second sketch, of Jane with longer hair and no tattoos. “Okay, so Jane drew this self-portrait, but I don’t think she was just using her imagination. Either she remembered seeing herself in the mirror or someone—probably Oscar, whoever he is—showed her pictures or video footage of herself.”

“Being approached by someone who knew who she was must have been a pretty powerful draw for her,” Reade said, his voice non-committal. When Weller glanced over, Reade was looking at him, as if assessing how he was holding up.

“Especially if she remembered being engaged to him before. There must have been a strong connection there.”

“One she didn’t bother to mention to any of us, which means she must have known we wouldn’t like what we found out about her past life,” Weller said, trying to keep the bitterness from his words.

“Yeah, that makes sense, considering what she wrote below that picture.” Patterson brought up the enlarged words on the screen.

_You did this to yourself._

“Whoa,” Reade said.

“She played us.” Zapata crossed her arms over her chest, her voice taut with anger. “She played us from the start.”

“No, we don’t know that,” Patterson protested. “Her memory loss was real. All the tests confirmed it: the polygraphs, the scans we took of her brain...”

“Why else would she have Weller’s name tattooed on her back and Taylor Shaw’s DNA switched out for hers? Before she wiped her own memories, she found Weller’s vulnerabilities and she targeted him, won our trust because he trusted her, and now Mayfair might be dead.” Zapata turned to Kurt. “Now, what are we gonna do about it?”

He was silent for a moment, adjusting to the sting of her words. It was nothing he hadn’t figured out for himself since he’d found the notebook last night, but hearing it from someone else’s lips renewed the hurt.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Whatever Jane was planning before she got her memory wiped, she had no idea about it when she came to us. I’m guessing the old Jane knew she wouldn’t trust Oscar when he approached her after she got ZIPped, so they would have had to plan for that. Our Jane wouldn’t have put her faith in him without a good reason, I believe that much.”

“Agreed,” Patterson said softly.

Zapata rolled her eyes, but remained silent. Reade just watched and waited.

“Now that we know Jane might know where Mayfair is, it’s critical that we find her. We need to look over that whole notebook for clues, even the things that seem like nothing. If Jane helped design her own tattoos, she might have hidden the same kinds of messages in there for some reason. It’s a long shot, but at this point, we don’t have a whole lot to go on.”

“I’ll scan the whole thing for you guys and put the original through forensics,” Patterson said.

Kurt continued, “Now we know Jane has a connection—through Oscar—to Carter’s murder. The files Mayfair left us point to Carter being involved with Orion, which we know now was a special ops project involving Navy SEALs in the Middle East. We know both Mayfair and Carter were involved in the illegal Daylight program, and that Jane’s tattoos pointed to federal corruption. My name was tattooed on Jane’s back, but it’s starting to look like Mayfair was the old Jane’s target all along. The question is, why go to all this trouble—tattooing Jane, sending her to us—when they could have just tried to kill Mayfair like they killed Carter? It feels like there’s some bigger plan here we don’t know about.”

“I’m running Oscar’s face through facial recognition software, but it’ll probably take a while because it’s a sketch. I’ll let you know if I get something,” Patterson added.

“Let’s get to work.” Weller left the lab before any of them could say anything else, making for the sanctuary of Mayfair’s—now his—office. He needed some time alone before he dove any further into this, to catch his breath and lick his wounds.

He doubted Oscar would turn out to be much of a lead. The information contained in Jane’s tattoos indicated that someone involved with her had high-level federal or military clearance, which meant any intel relating to Oscar had probably been redacted or erased. Maybe they could get lucky and track him down, bring him in for interrogation, but it was a long shot. It seemed long shots were all they had to work with now Jane was out of reach.

Something told him they wouldn’t get anywhere until they found where she was being held, and that might never happen. Meanwhile, Oscar and anyone else involved with him were still out there, planning whatever came next for them.

Maybe Oscar would find Jane before Weller could. If he freed her, would she try to come back to the FBI, or would she side with her ex-fiancé?

God, he wished Mayfair was here.


	7. Seeing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has a conversation with the demons in her mind.

**_A few days later…_ **

 

“So, what does it feel like?” Oscar sat up against the opposite wall to the one Jane was huddled against, blood seeping around the edges of the axe lodged in his gut.

Jane was too thirsty to waste breath and saliva answering a hallucination. It had been days since she’d had anything to drink. She blinked slowly, trying to figure out how he looked so real.

“Being a black widow,” Oscar elaborated, with a glance down at his wound. “What’s it like? Are you planning to make this an ongoing thing? First me, then Weller…?”

The thought of killing Weller made her sick to her empty stomach. If it came down to one of them or the other in a fight, Jane was pretty sure she’d allow him to kill her, rather than have to face the rest of her life knowing what a good man she’d taken from the world.

“That’s harsh,” Oscar said. “I loved you more than anything. I was willing to die to get you back, and you took full advantage of that.”

_You were going to wipe out everything that I am because you showed me your true colours and I rejected you. What about that is not screwed up to you?_

“If you’d been yourself, you would have told me to do it. To get the mission back on track.”

 _I don’t care what my old self would have told you to do. I’m Jane now, not whoever I was before. I’m the person inhabiting this body, and you had no right to try to…to_ reset _me because you didn’t like what I thought of you and your friends._

Oscar pulled at the handle of the axe, grimacing. “You seemed to like me back when you thought you could use me for information. Or for your own pleasure.”

Someone laughed. “You were just a placeholder for me.”

Jane’s head snapped up at the second familiar voice. For a second of wild hope she stared at Kurt Weller, wondering if rescue had finally arrived. Then she realised he was talking to Oscar, and she sagged back against the wall, despairing.

_Now I have to listen to the two men in my life argue over me, even though one is dead and the other gave me over to torturers?_

“Hey, she came to the radio tower to meet me, instead of to the park to meet you.”

Kurt shrugged and sat beside Jane. “Turns out I didn’t go to the park either, so it’s not like she missed anything.”

Jane closed her eyes. _Is this hell? This must be hell._

“You could have told me everything, you know,” the hallucination of Weller said. “Before you went too far, I mean. Back at the beginning.”

 _You would never have trusted me again if you found out this was all my idea._ If her body had been capable of producing tears, she would have been crying now.

“I’m never going to trust you again anyway. And Mayfair is dead because of you.” The condemnation in his voice made her flinch. “So what good did lying to me do, Jane, huh?”

“At least she got a few orgasms out of siding with me.”

_Okay, this conversation is getting ridiculous. Go away! Both of you!_

Silence.

When Jane cracked an eye open, she was alone. Relieved to have a respite from the argument, she tried to settle more comfortably against the wall. Before she could adjust herself in a way that didn’t aggravate any of her bruises too much, footsteps sounded in the distance, coming closer.

_Great. Who’s going to walk through that door? Mayfair? Taylor Shaw?_

The door opened to reveal one of the CIA guards holding a bottle of water. Jane sat up in a hurry.

“You want this?” The unsmiling man held up the bottle. “Tell me your name.”

She swallowed, trying to generate enough saliva to speak. Her voice emerged rough and scratchy. “I wish I knew so I could tell you.”

He sighed, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Just give us something—anything we can use—and I’ll let you have this.”

Jane couldn’t take her eyes off the bottle. Just the thought of a sip of water made her bite back a whimper of longing. Even if it was warm or dirty, she’d take it.

“Just give him something,” Oscar’s voice recommended, though she didn’t bother to look in his direction. “Do you really want to die here?”

“Jane. Don’t.” That was Kurt, a low warning in her ear. “You give in to them now, they’ll keep doing this. They’ll know it’s the way to get you to talk.”

Jane forced her eyes from the bottle to the man holding it. “My memory was wiped. I only get random flashes here and there. I can’t just summon up what you want to know. I don’t know who I was, or where I was, or what my objectives were. Everything I remembered, I told the FBI and it’s in my file. You’re asking for information that I…can’t…access.”

The guy waited in silence for a couple of interminable moments, and Jane didn’t move a muscle, terrified that he’d take the water away.

Finally, he sighed and came into the cell, shut the door behind him and crouched in front of her. “Slowly. Small sips, or you’ll just throw it back up.”

Jane grabbed for the bottle, but he kept control of it, as if he’d rehydrated a million tortured prisoners before her. Too far gone to worry about her dignity, she let him trickle a little into her mouth, a shudder rippling through her body as she began to absorb the precious liquid.

The guard made her take a break, and she gasped in a grateful breath. “Thank you.”

“We can’t keep doing this forever, you know. If you don’t give us something we can use soon, we’ll just put you somewhere we can forget about you and move on. Now, you may think that’s a good thing, but it’s not.”

“What’s the alternative? Tell you everything that I can possibly think of and then have you put me somewhere to forget about me anyway? Or maybe you’ll just kill me.”

He handed over the plastic bottle and stood up, his face impassive. “Don’t drink that too fast.”

“Yeah, have a nice day to you, too,” Jane muttered as he left, and took another gulp of water.

Alone again, without even her hallucinations for company, she made a mental note of the guard’s compassion. Maybe it was something she could exploit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing conversations with hallucinations. I don't get to do that enough. :D


	8. Unconventional Methods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patterson is out of ideas...except one.

“Weller!” Patterson all but burst into his office, more animated than he’d seen her since Mayfair’s disappearance.

Kurt half rose from his chair before he knew what he was doing. “You have something new on Jane?”

She shook her head, sinking his burgeoning hopes before he could fully process them. “Sorry, no. Not yet. But I have a new idea I wanted to run past you.”

“I trust you, Patterson. As long as it’s legal—”

“No, seriously. You’re going to want to approve this one in advance.” She sat down in the chair opposite his desk and gave him a little smile. “Or at least, I want you to approve it in advance so you can’t blame me when whatever goes wrong inevitably goes wrong.”

Kurt leaned back, recovering from the brief adrenaline hit of thinking she’d found Jane. It had been over a week since he’d found her notebook, and none of the text or pictures had revealed any new information since their initial strategising session. They needed leads. He needed hope.

“Remember Rich Dotcom?”

Kurt snorted. “How could I forget?”

“I think we should reach out to him for help.”

Kurt studied her enthusiastic expression, wondering if he should attempt to get her to take some time off. “Gotta say, Patterson, this isn’t the conversation I was expecting to have with you. Ever.”

She actually grinned. “Just hear me out. I know it’s not the most conventional search method, reaching out to a criminal who escaped our custody, but he has this weird, sexual obsession with you and Jane.”

“I had noticed,” he said, voice dry. The way Rich had tried to meddle in his relationships—and insert himself into them—hadn’t been the most endearing thing about the dark web hacker.

“Exactly. He’d love the chance to stick his nose back into your business.”

“I don’t want his nose anywhere near my business, Patterson.”

“Not even if he can help us find Jane?” She sighed. “I’ll level with you. He’s better than me at navigating the shady internet underworld—though if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll deny all knowledge of this conversation. We’re out of other options. I’ve been trying to think of a new path to go down with this Jane search for days, and this is the only thing I’ve come up with.”

Weller had to admit she had a point. “Rich is in the wind. How would you get in touch with him? And how would you convince him to work on our behalf? I’m not gonna hire him.”

“What, you don’t want to offer your body as payment?” she teased.

Weller just glowered at her.

“I’m pretty sure he’d do it for free. Under all the murder and illegal item trading, he’s kind of a romantic. He’s invested in you and Jane, as invasive and embarrassing as that must be for both of you. But if he does ask for payment, I guess we can always knock some time off his prison sentence next time we catch him.”

“If we catch him.”

“There is that.” Patterson shifted in her chair. “So? Do I have your permission to put some feelers out?”

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but fine. Get Rich on board. Don’t agree to anything he asks for without my permission, and don’t let him into your systems.”

“I would never!” Patterson gave him a mock hurt look.

“Keep me posted.”

* * *

 

Less than two hours later, when he dropped by Patterson’s lab, Kurt found her typing into some kind of chat window. “Anything?”

“I’m just filling Rich in now.”

Kurt leaned over her shoulder and read:

_Is Agent Stubbles okay? Bet he’s rampaging around like a bear with a thorn in its paw. I kinda wish I was there to see that. Frustrated macho displays are such a turn-on._

“God, I feel exhausted already.” He shook his head. “Is there anything you need?”

“I’ll get back to you if I think of anything.” As Kurt turned to leave, she snickered. “Rich would like to know if you need anyone to warm your bed until Jane gets back.”

“If I did, he would be at the literal end of the list.”

“I’ll just tell him ‘no, thank you’.”

Irritated, Kurt continued, “It’s not like Jane was even in my bed to start with.”

Patterson cast a sideways glance at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s not anything. It’s just a fact.”

Typing a quick ‘brb’, she turned to face him. “Weller, if you wanna talk—”

He shut her down hard. “There’s nothing to say. We were both interested. We kissed a couple of times. Then she went off the playbook. Stopped confiding in us. Even if we find her, it’s never gonna happen now. That’s all there is to it.”

It was late in the day and most of Patterson’s underlings had already left. Keeping her voice down to avoid the attention of the rest, she stepped closer to him. “It was pretty obvious she really liked you, too. I don’t think she ever meant for this to happen. Our Jane, I mean. Not the pre-ZIP Jane.”

Kurt swallowed his bitter retort. Trying to figure out Jane’s motivations had already driven him crazy on way too many occasions for him to dive back in there.

“You always see the best in people, Patterson.” He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “Get back to Rich. If you want gossip, he’s your guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, who doesn't love Rich Dotcom? I'm not sure how well I can actually write him, but I'll definitely give it a try...


	9. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane continues to plan her escape, while Keaton changes his approach.

Jane carefully braided the newest fibres from her grey prison scrubs into the rope she’d been working on since the first day she’d arrived. It was painstaking work. Some days, the rough synthetic fibres snapped during the knotting and weaving processes, leaving her frustrated and lacking progress. Still, her captors didn’t seem to have noticed the fraying around the various hems of the clothing she wore. It helped that it was so poorly made that the inside seams had a lot of uneven overlap, meaning that she could take a lot of threads at once from one invisible area.

They took her clothes every few days and blasted her naked body with a high-pressure hose before giving her a clean outfit. ‘Giving her a shower’, they called it. Jane was pretty sure sandpaper would hurt less, and the indignity of having to stand in front of three male enemies, nude and exposed…that chafed even more than the water. But at least she felt a little cleaner after these so-called showers, and there was always a chance she’d get a new set of scrubs with a fresh wealth of threads to harvest for her rope.

She’d already attached the makeshift cord to the drain cover, hiding her work by guiding it down the spout. So far, no one had commented on the small signs of wear and tear in her clothing; maybe previous prisoners had picked their scrubs apart just for something to do.

Another week, maybe two, and she’d have a long enough rope to wield her makeshift mace effectively. Possessing a secret weapon gave her back a sense of power that she’d lacked when she’d first been thrown in here. It gave her hope.

What worried her was how deconditioned she was. She’d worked out almost every day since she’d woken up in Times Square, taking comfort in how well her body functioned, even if her mind had let her down. That had changed once she’d gotten to the black site. They’d tortured her every day, resorting to electrocution and waterboarding when her body got too broken from beatings, but only to allow her to heal a little so they could do it all over again. She hadn’t been able to work out, worried that she’d tear a ligament or give herself nerve damage. If she was going to escape from here, she’d have to pick her moment carefully, and if she hobbled herself through stubbornly trying to keep in top fighting shape, she’d have no chance.

Jane finished up her crafting project for the day, replacing the drain cover to hide the rope beneath. Then, wincing, she felt along the lengths of her pinkie fingers one at a time. One of the first things her tormentors had done was to snap them both, and she’d been trying to keep them straightened ever since, hoping they’d heal cleanly. They were still painful and a little swollen, but the worst seemed to be past. If Jake and his merry band of torturers didn’t re-break them, she’d even be able to close her fists all the way when it became time for her to escape.

_Speak of the devil…_

Jake opened the door to her cell and stepped inside, cautious as always. He didn’t underestimate her the way the others did, which made him far more dangerous.

He put a bowl of slop down on the floor beside her— _some kind of cold stew from a can? Dubious nutritional value_ —but instead of leaving, he leaned against the door and watched her.

Ignoring the food, Jane stared up at him. “Forgot your thumbscrews?”

He actually smiled at her sour joke. “I thought we could have a civilised heart-to-heart.”

“Great. I’ll start. Do you like your job? Do you get a lot of satisfaction from it?” There was no way she was getting chummy with one of her torturers.

Jake sighed. “Do you have family, Jane?”

Jane shrugged. “If I do, I can’t remember them.” _I thought the team were my new family. I was wrong._

“I don’t enjoy this part of my job. But I would do all of this and more, twenty-four hours a day, if it meant protecting the people I care about from people like you. Sometimes the monsters don’t play by our rules, so I have to play by theirs.”

“And what, exactly, makes you think that I’m a monster? Over the past few months I have helped to avert terrorist attacks. The intel in my tattoos has prevented chemical attacks, explosive attacks…hell, even a biological attack. We’ve brought in criminals on the FBI’s most wanted list. We’ve averted disasters where hundreds of thousands of people’s lives were in jeopardy. I’m proud of being part of those missions. Of saving lives. But this is how I’m treated?”

“We need to find out where that intel came from, Jane. You know that.”

“By torturing an amnesiac. Sure, that’s bound to work.” She rolled her eyes and picked up the bowl he’d brought in. The stew was congealed and clammy in her mouth, but it would keep her occupied so she could think through her answers to his questions—and filter out anything she didn’t want him to know.

“I think you were a very dangerous person in your past life. You might have fooled Kurt Weller and Bethany Mayfair, but you don’t fool me.”

Jane chewed slowly, wishing she could take the risk of smashing his head against the wall. The other guards were surely outside, and fighting with just her fists wasn’t going to cut it against all three of them, not when she was so bruised and battered.

“What’s your ulterior motive, huh? What’s the endgame of winning Weller’s trust?”

She swallowed her mouthful of food. “If I ever knew that in the first place, I don’t know it now. Whoever I used to be, I don’t remember her. If I was one of the bad guys, then losing my memory is the best thing that ever happened to me, because I get to be a better person. And if I’ve done awful things, I don’t want to remember them.”

“Even if it might save lives?”

“How long have you been trying to get answers from me? A month? Two? Three? My memory was chemically erased. You know that. I can’t just snap my fingers and get that back just because you injure me.”

Seeing an opportunity to get him out of there, she leaned forward. “I’m kind of the opposite of you, Jake. You must have joined the CIA for noble reasons, right? Protect your family, the American people, whatever? But look at you now. You’re just a torturer. Congratulations, Jake. You’ve become one of the monsters.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his face inscrutable. Then he muttered, “Enjoy your meal,” and left, slamming the door behind him.

Jane smiled down at her unappetising gruel. _That should keep him away for a little while._

She just hoped his retribution wouldn’t be as monstrous as she’d implied he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to feel like I'm going on too long without anything actually happening, so I'll be changing things up pretty soon. Hope this isn't starting to get boring for anyone!


	10. Conspiring with a Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich Dotcom is closing in on Jane, but before he does anything more, he wants to talk to Kurt. And he doesn't know the meaning of tact.

“Oregon!”

“What about Oregon?” Zapata replied, distracted by the report on one of SIOC’s large screens.

Patterson skidded to a stop in front of the team. “Jane’s black site is somewhere in Oregon. We’re getting closer!”

“Cool. I’ll start knocking on doors,” Reade said sarcastically.

Tension Weller hadn’t even realised he’d been holding flooded out of his shoulders. _Finally, some progress._ “Rich came through for us?”

“Yup. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he wants to talk to you, Weller.”

He sighed. “Figures. Does it have to be now?”

“If you want him to keep working,” Patterson said. “I’ll clear my lab; you guys can talk in there without any awkward questions being asked.”

“Thanks. Reade, Zapata—keep working on finding the victim’s cousin. This shouldn’t take me long.”

Leaving the other two behind in SIOC, he followed Patterson back to her lab. They walked quietly, and he caught her sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“They’re holding Jane in the States. That means we should be able to get her back on jurisdictional grounds, but if they find out we’re coming and they move her abroad, we’ve got no chance.”

He nodded. “We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“How? Are you going to kill a whole team of CIA operatives if they won’t give her back?” Patterson’s expression was worried. “We can’t break the law getting to Jane—any worse than I already have by involving a wanted criminal—and we don’t have Mayfair here to smooth Pellington’s ruffled feathers if we rile up the CIA too much. We need to come up with a different way.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. We find her first.”

When they reached the lab, Patterson banished all her lab techs for an early lunch, then leaned over her keyboard. “Okay… Brace yourself.”

“Deputy Director Kurt Weller, as I live and breathe!” Rich Dotcom’s face came up on the screen, smug as always.

“Rich. I appreciate your help with this. How can we specifically find where Jane’s being held?”

Rich looked affronted. “I’m not loving this direct approach, Stubbles. First we need to talk about how you let this happen in the first place. For starters, why was she in FBI holding to start with? You arrested her? For what?”

Weller shot Patterson an irritated look. “Sorry,” she whispered from the sidelines. “It just slipped out.”

“I can’t give you details of a classified case, Rich. I’m sorry.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about the case; I care about you and Jane. What went wrong? You guys are so clearly perfect together. It pains me that your relationship is on the rocks like this.”

“Why exactly are you so obsessed?” Weller asked, attempting to keep calm.

“From the moment I saw you two, I just knew there was something special there. I’ve never seen chemistry like it. You can deny it all you want to, but you’re fated to be together and I want to be a part of that. In more than one way. You guys must be explosive in the bedroom. Am I right?”

Kurt’s fingers curled into involuntary fists. “Let me make this very clear, Rich. Jane and I were pretending to be married when we met you. We were undercover. We have never been involved romantically, and even if we were, you would never get to join us in the bedroom.”

Typically, Rich cherry-picked the bits of information he was interested in and ignored the rest. “You’ve never rubbed that stubbly chin against Jane’s heavenly thighs? Are you crazy? You are so clearly the only man for her, even if she’s too shy to ever say it.”

Patterson snickered, then tried to paste a contrite look over her features.

If he didn’t give Rich some kind of victory, the hacker would never drop the subject. _Am I really about to say this?_

“Look, Rich. Jane and I parted on bad terms. I need to find her to tell her I made a mistake, okay? I’ll never know what might or might not be between us unless I can get her back from the CIA. How soon do you think you can figure out where in Oregon she is?”

The idea of Kurt rushing to Jane’s rescue to apologise clearly appealed to Rich. “Like I told Patterson, the chatter is that Jake Keaton, the deputy director of the CIA, is personally trying to crack Jane. He’s been out of the New York office for over a month longer than he’d anticipated, and the word is that he’s starting to get pretty sick of being away from his family, so if he doesn’t get answers soon I’m guessing she’s going wherever they put prisoners they can’t break. And I don’t know if I can find out where that is.”

Urgency filled Kurt’s body. “Then we have to do this fast. “

“Right there with you, buddy. I’m making inroads with a few sources, greasing a few wheels, so to speak. It shouldn’t be more than a few days before I can get back to you with a concrete location.”

“If you need anything, talk to Patterson. I’m gonna head out to Portland tomorrow and I’ll be waiting for her call. If you can find out how many people are guarding Jane or anything else that might help us, we’ll need that too.”

Rich nodded. “I won’t let you down. You just have to promise me one thing, okay? When you find her, you tell her how you feel. The time to play it cool is over.”

“Goodbye, Rich.” Weller nodded at Patterson, who leaned over and ended the call.

“Well,” she said, amusement colouring her tone, “I guess it could have been worse.”

Weller rubbed the back of his neck, trying to dispel the tension there. “Not by much.”

“Are you really going to Portland?” Patterson asked.

He shrugged. “Been meaning to visit my sister and nephew for a while. This way, I can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good idea.” Patterson hesitated, then said, “Weller? Don’t be too hard on Jane when you find her. I know there’s a lot we don’t know about her agenda, but she’s still our Jane, and she’s probably been tortured every day since we last saw her.”

“Noted.” Kurt pushed down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him in a tidal wave. If he let himself dwell on that, he’d be no use to anyone. “Right now I’m just focusing on getting her out of there.”

She smiled. “And I promise I won’t tell Zapata and Reade about what Rich said about your face and Jane’s thighs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I didn't do too terrible a job of writing Rich Dotcom here... his voice is harder to nail than I expected!


	11. Anger and Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt arrives in Portland for a family reunion while he waits for Jane's specific location, and confides in Sarah.

Weller’s plane touched down in Portland early the following afternoon. He spent the six-hour flight alternately looking forward to seeing Sarah and Sawyer, and wondering how he was going to explain to Sarah that he was planning to take off at short notice to try to rescue Jane—who was _not_ their long-lost childhood friend—from her CIA torturers. Probably on his own, because there was no way he was waiting for Zapata and Reade to fly out here as backup if he could help it.

The arrivals area was milling with newly landed passengers and expectant family and friends there to greet them. Kurt cast his eyes over the crowd, searching for Sarah’s blonde head, and instead caught sight of a familiar curly-haired child. Sawyer was holding a clumsily decorated sign meant to catch the attention of ‘Uncle Kurt’, and as Sarah caught sight of her brother and pointed him out to the boy on her shoulders, the sign began to wave enthusiastically.

Breaking into what felt like his first genuine smile in months, Kurt wove through the crowd to get to his family. “There you are!”

“Uncle Kurt, I missed you!”

Weller swept the kid up in his arms and hugged him. “Missed you too, bud. Did you grow again? Soon you’ll be taller than your mom.”

Sarah accepted his one-armed hug as he juggled Sawyer and his carry-on luggage. “Hey… How was your flight?”

“Someone kept kicking the back of my seat. The food sucked. You know; the usual.”

He set Sawyer down on his feet, and the three of them began to head for the exit. Surreptitiously, Kurt checked his cell phone to make sure no communication from the office had come in while he was in the air.

“Hey, Mister Deputy Director. Take a break for just a few hours, okay?” Sarah admonished.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stuck his cell back in his pocket with a wink at Sawyer.

“You got in trouble,” Sawyer whispered, giggling, and Kurt grinned back at him.

* * *

In less than an hour, they were back at Sarah’s apartment, which was surprisingly neat and tidy. Kurt suspected she’d cleaned up in preparation for his visit; when it came to domestic chores like housework and cooking, she was usually hopeless.

Sarah sent Sawyer off to do his homework, so that he could hang out with his uncle for the rest of the weekend without worrying about it. After a token protest, sensing that the grown-ups wanted to have a ‘boring’ conversation, he agreed. Sarah and Kurt settled on the couch with cups of coffee, gazing at each other in silence for a moment.

Sarah looked somehow older. It had only been a couple of months since their father’s demise, but his deathbed confession and Kurt’s discovery of Taylor’s body had dimmed some of her natural enthusiasm for life. Kurt suspected she was assessing him and finding a change there, too.

“So, how’ve you been since…?” Sarah trailed off. Neither of them wanted to go into detail about the circumstances.

Kurt sipped his coffee before shrugging. “To be honest, it’s not that much different to know for sure that he did it. At least now we know where she is. I know you were always on his side, but me? I just knew he was responsible.”

“Even though you reconciled for a while?” Sarah didn’t mention Jane, but she didn’t need to.

“I was right about him my whole life. If not for Jane’s DNA test, I would have let him go to the grave without speaking to him again. My only regret is that I made him feel forgiven before he died.”

Sarah frowned. “I wish it were that simple for me. I defended him for so long—to you, to Emma, to everyone else in Clearfield—and he just let me do it. He knew he was guilty, and he let me believe he was innocent, and had the nerve to thank me for staying on his side. When I talked to you after the funeral, I think I was still in denial, but ever since then I can’t get it out of my head. How could he have let a seven-year-old kid be his chief defender? Mom never stood up for him to you or Emma. I guess she knew the truth all along too, and then she took off and left her kids to be raised by a murderer. But I’m over what Mom did. It happened so long ago.”

“It’s okay to feel angry. At Dad, I mean.”

Sarah gave a small nod. “I am. I am _so_ mad at him, and I never got to tell him. And I never will. And the worst part is, I have to pretend to miss him when Sawyer talks about him, so he will never know what an awful grandfather he had. I let a child murderer help to raise my baby, Kurt.”

Weller grieved for his sister’s lost innocence. “We both let him be around Sawyer at the end. If I could change my part in that, I would.”

“I think the worst part is, we’ll never know why he did it. Why would he kill Taylor? Was it an accident? Did he hit her with his car? Did she see something she wasn’t supposed to and he killed her to stop her from talking? Or was it something…worse?”

Kurt put an arm around her, and they sat quietly, hurting together.

“Have you spoken to Jane at all?” Sarah asked. “The last you told me, she didn’t know that she wasn’t Taylor but the CIA had just taken her into custody anyway?”

He took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you, Sarah, can _not_ leave this room. Okay?”

His sister nodded, wide-eyed.

“The CIA isn’t just detaining Jane. The tattoos on her body led us—the FBI, I mean—to some pretty high-level corruption in pretty much all areas of federal and military administration. The CIA is pretty interested in how that information ended up tattooed on her. How whoever did it had access to so much intel.”

“Oh, my god. But she doesn’t know, right? She’s lost her memory. So…they haven’t let her go?”

“They’ve moved her to a black site, somewhere that officially doesn’t exist. And they’re torturing her to see if they can get more from her.”

Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling her gasp. Her horrified, outraged expression evaporated Kurt’s remaining professional detachment from the situation—what little he still had—and nausea churned in his gut. He set down his half-full coffee cup, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stomach the rest.

“So all this time? More than two months?”

He nodded.

“And you’ve taken this right on your shoulders, haven’t you?” Sarah shook her head. “Kurt, this is not your fault. I thought you’d feel lighter after we found out what happened to Taylor. I thought you could put down that…that sack of guilt you’ve been hefting around for twenty-five years, and be happy. Maybe even with Jane, though I know she’s not who we thought she was. But now you have a new missing friend to obsess over, right?”

“I should have protected her. Regardless of how I felt about her not being Taylor.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re hopeless. You don’t know how to live without guilt. You need therapy, like real therapy, not the kind where you go and you don’t talk about your problems.”

“Hey, why not tell me how you really feel?” he said wryly.

“I’m your sister. I get to nag at you when you’re not taking proper care of yourself.”

“You always have,” Kurt said affectionately, and they exchanged small smiles.

Sarah drained her coffee cup and set it down. “Are you trying to find Jane? Is that why you decided to come here out of the blue?”

“It’s not that I’m not happy to be here with you both,” Kurt began sheepishly, but she interrupted him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But your job doesn’t let you just drop everything these days. You said you’d need at least a month in advance to plan when to visit.”

“The FBI needs Jane back. We think she might know where Mayfair is, so…”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. _You_ need her back. I have never seen you so doe-eyed over a woman; no pun intended. And the way she looked at you, I was surprised you didn’t kick us out and move her in within two weeks of meeting her.”

Kurt shook his head. “Yeah, well, that was before I found out she was withholding important information from me. And pretending to remember our childhood when she wasn’t even there.” He stood up and took her empty coffee mug from her, then picked up his own.

“Are you running away from this conversation?”

Sarah followed him into the kitchen, where he rinsed the mugs in the sink, avoiding her eyes.

“I don’t know what Jane wasn’t telling you, but I don’t blame her for pretending she remembered us. Remember the first time she came over for dinner, and she panicked and ran out? All those expectations... She thought she was Taylor because you told her so. She must have figured the memories would come eventually and taken a stab in the dark when you were talking about when you were a kid, because she knew how much that would mean to you.”

Weller leaned back against the counter, shaking his head. “If not for her, I wouldn’t have forgiven Dad.”

“What came first?” Sarah asked. “Her faking a memory or you forgiving Dad? Because I remember when she first came over, she was very apologetic about not remembering any of us from back then.”

Weller opened his mouth to say that of course Jane had faked a memory first, but then shut it again, recalling the day she’d pretended to remember going fishing with them. His father had already been bedbound by the time he’d introduced him to Jane, weeks after their reconciliation. It had only taken the false DNA result to get Kurt to cave in. That had been his own choice, without any deception from Jane.

“Kurt…” Sarah pulled him into a hug, sighing against his shoulder. “I don’t want you to blame Jane, but I don’t want you to blame yourself either. You made the decision to forgive Dad based on all the information you had at the time, and what you thought was right.”

The gesture of comfort brought tears to his eyes, and he swallowed hard. “Yeah. I know. Thanks.”

Sarah stepped back, her own eyes misty. “Things are gonna be better for this family from now on. I know it.”

“Mom?”

At Sawyer’s voice, they both straightened up, hiding their emotions for the child’s sake.

“Is Uncle Kurt making dinner, or are you?” Sawyer asked.

Kurt laughed. “Your mom still can’t cook a chicken properly, huh?”

“Mom’s chicken is okay,” Sawyer said loyally. “But yours is extra good, and I haven’t had it in ages.”

“Fine. Uncle Kurt can make dinner,” Sarah said, as though that hadn’t been Kurt’s plan all along. “Maybe he can show me what he does to make the chicken extra good.”

“Sure, I’ll show you. Again,” Kurt added, snickering.

Ignoring him, Sarah asked her son, “Can you go get your homework to show me?”

As Sawyer ran back into the bedroom, she turned back to Kurt. “So you think Jane is in Portland?”

“Somewhere in Oregon. I should have a specific location within the next few days. Since you guys are here, I thought I’d come out a little early and wait close by.”

Sarah nodded. “Well, in the meantime, we’ll do our best to take your mind off things.”

“Just not with your cooking, okay, Martha Stewart?” Weller teased.

“Shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through all this angst and not much action! I'm also open to taking Jeller drabble prompts if anyone feels like suggesting anything. Just don't ask me to write pregnancy/child!fic, non-con or cheating. :)


	12. Floodlit Horrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt reaches the black site where Jane's been held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should also be known as the Kurt Weller manpain chapter. But I couldn't resist.

“Uncle Kurt? Your cell phone is vibrating.”

Weller groaned and opened his eyes to see that Sawyer was holding his phone two inches from his nose. Was it even morning? He’d been dreaming something, but he couldn’t remember what.

“Thanks, buddy.”

He took the phone from his nephew and glanced at the caller ID. _Patterson._ Instantly, his grogginess disappeared, and he answered the call in a hurry.

“Patterson. What’s up? Are you at work already?”

“It’s like nine-twenty, Weller.” Patterson sounded amused. “Are you still in bed?”

“If it’s nine-twenty, why is my nephew not at school?” Kurt asked, his eyes on Sawyer.

“I have a dentist appointment,” Sawyer filled in, as Patterson told him she had no idea.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. “C’mon, Sawyer, let’s get going.”

As they departed, waving at Weller, he tried to tune in to what Patterson was saying.

“...anyway, are you free to talk?”

“They just left. Go ahead.” Kurt sat up, focused now.

“The CIA’s only Oregon black site is just outside of Springfield, about a two-hour drive from Portland. It’s in the basement of a small construction supply warehouse that looks like it’s owned by a shell company. I’ll send the location to your phone, but only if you promise you’re not gonna run in there alone, without a plan.”

Welller was already halfway through getting dressed when she stopped speaking. “When have I ever run in anywhere alone, without a plan?”

“When it comes to Jane, I’m kind of worried about what you’ll do. Don’t make me be the one to tell Reade and Zapata you’re dead because you wouldn’t wait for backup. Not after we’ve already lost Mayfair.”

He sighed. “Okay. Let me head up there and do some recon. No point in mobilising backup if there’s nothing there. I’ll get back to you by lunchtime and we can talk about how to handle this.”

Patterson’s voice was almost timid. “Please don’t make me regret giving you this, Weller. She’s been through months of torture already. Waiting a few more hours while we get you the proper support isn’t going to make much difference.”

“I know. Thanks for having my back.”

* * *

 

After leaving a quick note for Sarah, Weller rented a car from a place he’d noticed a couple of blocks away from the apartment. He’d already visited Portland FBI’s field office to requisition a bulletproof vest and rifle, drawing some curious questions from the people in charge. The word ‘classified’ could sometimes be an irritation, but in this case, it had been a godsend. Since he was so high-ranking in the New York office, he’d run into little resistance.

As he drove south, he felt as though a fog was lifting from his mind, leaving him with a clarity of purpose he hadn’t felt in months. Finally, he was moving towards answering the questions that had plagued him, towards getting Jane back and having the confrontation they should have had the day after he’d arrested her.

Would she come willingly, or would he have to arrest her again? Since he’d be breaking her out of CIA custody, she’d most likely come with him at first, but once he got her free and clear, what she’d want would be anyone’s guess. If he had to arrest her again, though, he damn well would. And this time, she’d be staying in his custody, even if he had to handcuff himself to her to guarantee her safety.

_You did this to yourself._

The words from Jane’s notebook haunted him. It had been easy enough to categorise her actions as belonging to past-Jane and present-Jane when her actions post-amnesia had been so clearly ethical. Together, they’d righted wrongs, averted catastrophic events and rooted out corruption. It had seemed she shared his passion for justice, which drew him to her just as strongly as his assumption that she was his childhood friend.

But present-Jane had kept things from him, things that must be critical to understanding who she used to be, and what past-Jane’s endgame had been in having his name tattooed on her back. If not for Jane’s sketch of Oscar, the revelation that the tattoos had been past-Jane’s choice wouldn’t have bothered him so much. But Oscar tied Jane to Carter’s death. Mayfair had been framed for Carter’s murder. That tied Jane to Mayfair’s downfall, and maybe even to her disappearance.

Weller was no longer able to put present-Jane’s actions in an ethical box he could approve of, could no longer be certain that she was worthy of his respect or admiration. And that bugged the hell out of him.

* * *

He’d assumed the small warehouse would be in a built-up area, the way the black site in New York had been. Instead, there was woodland nearby, and the place was so out of town that it almost had a rest stop feel.

Weller opted to park half a mile down the road rather than have his rental car stick out as not belonging in the area. The weather was overcast enough that he could wear a jacket over his bulletproof vest, though he opted to take only a concealed handgun at this stage of recon. He kept off the road as he headed back down the hill, hoping to stay off any surveillance cameras the CIA might be monitoring in the area.

At one point, he heard the roar of a truck engine speeding recklessly past on the road, but the trees prevented him from getting a look at the vehicle. Other than that, his walk was quiet.

When he got back to the warehouse and skirted around the side of the building, something immediately struck him as off. The door next to the large shutters was ajar, and he could have sworn there were two cars parked outside earlier, not one. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

As he approached the door, he heard a soft groan and curse from inside.

“Hey. You’re awake,” came a male voice.

Weller tilted his head to try to get an angle on what was happening inside. A man in a blue plaid shirt, sporting a split lip, helped an older guy to his feet.

“Shit. What the hell happened? Did we lose her?”

“She took your weapon, made me give her your keys. I was just about to call it in when you started moving.”

Despite his anxiety, Kurt couldn’t help but break into a relieved smile. Jane had broken free by herself, and he’d only missed her by a few minutes? _Thank god she’s okay._

The other guy shrugged off his help. “Then call it in! I’m gonna go check on Keaton.”

As he lurched out of Kurt’s sight, the first CIA operative dug his phone out of his pocket. Almost without thinking, Weller stepped into the doorway, his weapon drawn.

“FBI. Nobody move.”

The previously unconscious agent sighed. “We’re CIA, asshole. Put that gun away.”

Weller’s shooting stance didn’t waver. “I’m Deputy Director Kurt Weller from the FBI’s New York office.”

“Oh, fuck. Here we go.”

“I have reason to believe Jane Doe was being tortured here. On US soil. In a CIA black site. Illegally. I’m assuming you just lost her, though?”

The unarmed agent sneered at him. “Peters, call it in. Every second he holds us up, she gets farther away.”

Peters gave Weller a nervous glance. After a moment of internal debate, Weller lowered his weapon. At least when Jane had been with the CIA, he’d known where she was. Now she could be heading anywhere, and he needed to know as much as possible.

As the agent called in Jane’s escape and gave the details of the silver pickup truck she’d stolen from him, Weller noted the license plate in a text message and sent it to Patterson. She sent back an immediate text confirmation, and he made a mental note to buy her a drink when he got back to New York. At least now the FBI and CIA were on equal footing in their search for Jane.

“What happened?” Weller demanded.

“We have no idea,” Peters admitted. “There are five of us assigned here. We were up here running the place and making sure no one got too curious about the door no one’s allowed to go through. All of a sudden, she just comes barrelling through that door and takes down Rutherford, grabs his shotgun, holds me at gunpoint and demands my keys. I gave them to her. She floored me and by the time I stopped seeing stars, she was gone.”

With the two agents in tow, Kurt headed through the door Peters had indicated and down the metal staircase. The large underground room was lit by a single floodlight set in the corner, giving it an ominous atmosphere.

He couldn’t bring himself to care about the three men collapsed at various points around the room. While Peters and Rutherford checked pulses and administered first aid to the agents—all three had been efficiently knocked out but not seriously harmed—Weller looked around at the various pieces of equipment stored here. A chair with heavy restraints for both wrists and ankles. A long, knee-high bench with an adjustable tilt— _all the better to waterboard you, my dear,_ Weller thought in disgust. Electrical paraphernalia made it clear that the CIA had been using electric shocks on Jane. A large, sturdy industrial hook hung from the ceiling, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t corn syrup that had stained the concrete beneath.

His gaze landed on a waist-high basin filled with water. A crowbar. A baseball bat. A high-pressure hose. With each new discovery, his awareness of the current activity in the room grew fainter, a buzzing in his ears increasing as horror after horror flashed into his imagination.

Jane electrocuted. Jane beaten. Jane powerless to stop any of it.

For a brief moment, he wished she’d killed them all.

He continued through a doorway into a narrow hallway. One door on either side. A bathroom on the left, nothing more than a toilet and basin. On the right, a small, rectangular room with cinderblock walls, an open drainage spout in the centre, and a rusty bucket in the corner.

The room smelled of human waste, sweat, blood. It was chilly and damp, windowless and utterly depressing. There wasn’t even a bed.

Weller’s jaw ached from how hard he was gritting his teeth. He’d dug his nails into his palms so hard, he’d drawn blood.

_Jane. I am so sorry._

“You must be Kurt Weller, FBI.” A weary, yet mocking voice from down the hall finally allowed him to look away from the prison she’d had to endure. “Step into my office.”

Someone had turned on the fluorescent overhead lights and killed the floodlight in the corner. Kurt wished they’d left the lighting the way it was. At least then, there were things in the room he hadn’t been able to see properly.

“What the hell were you doing to her?” he demanded. He was becoming blessedly numb to all emotion, as though his body were shutting off all but the most vital functions so that he didn’t lose his goddamn mind.

“The more pertinent question is ‘how did we lose her?’, don’t you think? She was in our custody for three months, and you show up just after she makes a break for it?” The sharp-eyed agent was developing an impressive swelling on his jaw. In a few hours, his bruise would be a vivid purple.

“The only reason I’m here is that you have a leak in your organisation. My people found a list of your current black sites on the dark web. I only knew where to look because of chatter that Jake Keaton—I’m guessing that’s you—had been spending way too long in Oregon trying to crack a tough prisoner.”

Keaton shot a severe look at Rutherford, who was standing nearby. “Follow up on that.”

The older agent left, and Keaton scowled down at something on the floor. Weller realised it was a makeshift weapon of some kind. “This is how she got out?”

Keaton picked up the object, not bothering to use gloves. None of this would ever end up in a court of law. They both studied the length of crude rope and the drain cover attached to it with disbelief bordering on admiration.

“That cover must have been over the drain in her cell,” Weller said, remembering the open spout.

“Yeah. It is. And this rope is made from threads from her clothing. For it to be this long, she must have started making it the day she got here.” Keaton shook his head. “I’ll give her one thing; she’s determined. Three months, and I didn’t get so much as her name.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know it. This whole interrogation was completely futile.”

Keaton sighed. “I thought the amnesia thing was just an excuse, or at the very least, an exaggeration. Maybe I was wrong.”

“You were wrong to take her in the first place.” Weller had to get out of here before his emotions kicked back in and he killed the bastard. “When I had her in our custody, she wanted to talk. She begged me to listen to her. But I needed some distance and some sleep. I would have gotten what I needed from her the next day if you hadn’t taken her.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Keaton touched his wounded jaw and winced. “Even if you get to her before we do, you might not get anything out of her now. I told her you personally asked us to take her into our custody.”

Kurt laid him out with a punch right over his developing bruise, not realising he’d planned to do it until it was already done. “You son of a bitch!”

The two black-shirted agents in the room immediately drew their weapons, and Kurt stepped back, holding his hands up. “I’m done. I’m gone.”

He left the torture chamber before Keaton could say anything else that would make him lose control.

Upstairs, Rutherford was nowhere to be seen, but Peters was sitting on a cabinet, looking dejected. A twinge at the back of Kurt’s mind made him stop in front of the man. “I heard her drive off a good two, three minutes before I got close to this place on foot. She didn’t knock you out, did she? You had plenty of time to call it in, but you waited until your partner gave the order. You wanted her to get away.”

Peters hung his head. “It was a long interrogation. We got nothing from her. She hadn’t committed any crimes that we knew about. I didn’t think we’d do anything but throw her in a hole if we caught her. I gave her some extra time to escape. Are you gonna tell Keaton?”

Weller shook his head. “Thank you.”

He left without any more discussion, striding back down the road to his rental car at a fast pace to work off some of the numb shock that had coated his mind. Mindlessly, he stripped off his jacket and bulletproof vest, stashed them in the trunk and got behind the wheel.

The slam of the driver’s door, shutting out the outside world, unleashed everything he’d been suppressing since he’d descended into that torture chamber. The rage, guilt and grief overwhelmed him, and he wept for Jane, for what she’d been through, and for what he hadn’t been able to prevent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I was going to write a chapter from Jane's POV with her escape. I decided against it because it would essentially be the same as we saw in the show already. I may put some little flashbacks into her next scene here and there, but I didn't want to describe it blow by blow.


	13. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A newly escaped Jane does her best to lay low, and plans her next move.

Jane’s mind was racing with elated adrenaline. Freedom tasted so sweet that she swore she’d never take the sunlight or the breeze in her hair for granted again. Sure, she had a killer headache coming on from not taking her time to adjust to the brightness of natural light, but being able to feel the sun on her skin was worth it.

She managed to ascertain that she was in the Pacific Northwest from reading road signs, but with no memory of having visited the area, she had no idea where she might be able to safely lay low. During her time in CIA custody, she’d had a lot of time to think and plan, so she had her first basic steps planned out.

The first thing she’d need to do was find shoes and clothing to hide her institutional appearance. Operating on a hunch, she turned into a residential street not too far from the black site and found that some homeowners had hung laundry in their backyards to dry, taking advantage of the fine weather.

With a silent apology to the owners, she stole a functional pair of underwear, a mismatched pair of socks, a green shirt that looked about the right size and a pair of blue jogging pants that were definitely too large. She’d lost fat and muscle mass during captivity.

She thought she’d struck out when it came to shoes, but spotted a pair of muddy sneakers on someone’s back porch. They were neon pink under the grime, and they pinched her toes uncomfortably, but at least she could walk into public places and be judged ‘sloppy with bad fashion sense’, rather than ‘escaped CIA detainee’. A droopy yellow sunhat completed the disguise.

Thanking her stars she hadn’t run into any territorial dogs or irate homeowners with firearms, Jane got back into the truck and drove as far as she dared before finding a pawn shop in the seediest part of town.

The owner didn’t blink an eye when she pawned the shotgun and ammo she’d stolen from the CIA agent, handing over the cash as though he saw battered women in crazy outfits desperately trying to get money every day. Maybe he did. What mattered was that he wouldn’t call the cops on her.

She thought about using the money to buy a handgun, but decided against it. It would need to stretch as far as possible, and though having a gun would make her feel better, food, shelter and gas money were more important at the moment.

Her conspicuous burden unloaded, she got back into the pickup and scoped out the area, before finally abandoning the vehicle near a busy intersection close to a train station, with roads leading four different directions. The CIA wouldn’t know which way she’d gone from here, and there was always the possibility that she’d travelled to another city entirely via public transport.

It was tempting to do just that—take a train far away—but her bruises and tattoos would be remembered and if the ticket salesperson was questioned, they might remember her destination. That would make her no safer than if she stayed here.

She’d need to find a car that wouldn’t be reported stolen for a few hours—enough time for her to travel, abandon it and be on her way before it was found. Hotwiring wouldn’t be a problem for her—apparently, it was one of her many talents—but eventually she was going to need to lay low and nurse her injuries. Preferably somewhere soft, and with food.

Just the idea of sleeping in a real bed brought tears to her eyes. She walked quickly, keeping her head down to hide her face from any cameras, and clutched her money tightly in one hand, cursing her lack of foresight. _Should have stolen clothes with pockets. Damn women’s fashion designers._

She had four hundred dollars. She’d have to be sparing, but at least she could grab some food. She stopped at a corner stand and bought a hot dog, longing for coffee as well, but knowing she would have to stop to eat if she had to juggle a hot drink and one of the giant dogs. She walked and ate at the same time, devouring the hot, delicious junk food without a thought for the terrible meal she would have been given at the black site. Then she stopped at a second stand to grab a coffee.

The woman serving her blinked at the sight of Jane’s bruised face. “You need help, honey?”

_Yes. God, yes._

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

* * *

 

After an hour of walking, Jane hit another residential area and commandeered a cloth bag and a second set of clothing, not quite as mismatched as the last. Switching up her disguise made her feel marginally safer, and she ignored the protests of her bruised body to walk for another hour, finally giving in and breaking into an old building that looked to have once been a video rental store. It had definitely gone out of business.

Exhausted, she dropped the bag containing her spare disguise on the floor and did a quick sweep of the building, a discarded metal pipe held in front of her in case she wasn’t alone. The place was empty, though it hadn’t been too hard to break into. She might have company from the local homeless population later on, and maybe a few cats or rats. As long as they stayed out of her way and minded their own business, she wouldn’t care.

With a longing thought of a real mattress and blanket, Jane wadded up her spare clothing to use as a pillow and tried to get comfortable in a corner, out of sight of the door she’d entered through. She didn’t want to rest, but her body demanded it. Plus, if she didn’t get out of sight she might get swooped up off the streets by Jake and his men.

With all her heart, she wished she could find a payphone and call Weller, but she couldn’t depend on him, not anymore. Patterson, Reade, Zapata and Borden would all go straight to him if she tried to contact them.

Oscar was dead, but she’d tried to make it look like Cade had been responsible. She still had the number memorised for ‘Joey’s Pizza’, the fake business she used to call to arrange a meet with her handler, and eventually, she’d use it. But not now. Before she got back in contact with Oscar’s people, she’d need to heal, make some cash, get back into fighting shape. Eventually, she’d find Shepherd and demand answers. But that would have to wait until she could hold her own.

_God, everything hurts._ Especially her right arm. She’d had real trouble lifting it over her head to change shirts, and since then it had stiffened up even more. Fearing her strength had waned too much to knock out her captors, she’d overdone it.

Where could she go now? She had no passport to cross the border into Canada legally, and no contacts she could remember who could help her get the right papers. It made the most sense to settle someplace within a reasonable drive of New York, so she could keep whatever cash-in-hand job she managed to find while being able to follow the instructions of whoever was now her designated handler.

Pennsylvania? If Kurt ever found her, the proximity to Clearfield might rub him the wrong way. Though she no longer trusted him, the last thing she wanted was to add anything else to his list of grievances.

They’d expect her to go north of New York, to look for a chance to cross into Canada. She’d go south instead. New Jersey was within decent driving distance. At least the ZIP hadn’t wiped out her basic recollection of US geography.

Jane tried to turn over, winced, and stayed in her original position. Uncomfortable was better than painful.

Her last thoughts before she fell into an uneasy sleep were of Kurt Weller. She’d always relied on him for guidance and help when she needed it. Knowing that avenue of aid was denied to her now hurt more than she could describe.


	14. Unexpected Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injured Jane checks into a motel for the night, hoping to give her injuries some respite. Aid comes from an unexpected source...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost, almost at the point where Jane and Kurt are in the same place at the same time! Stick with me. :) Also, this chapter contains mentions of domestic violence, and an original character assuming Jane is fleeing an abusive partner, just in case anyone is sensitive to this issue.

“Local law enforcement just found the truck Jane stole. She ditched it at a busy intersection near a train station. She could be anywhere in the Northwest by now, and heading anywhere in the country.” Patterson sighed. “I guess that’s a good thing. We might not know where she is, but neither does Keaton.”

Weller toed off his shoes and sank down on his hotel bed. “Thanks for keeping me updated, Patterson. I don’t blame her for running. That black site was horrific.”

“Poor Jane,” Patterson murmured. “Whatever she did or didn’t do, she never deserved to be tortured. I’m just glad she got out.”

“Me too.” He hesitated. “I don’t think she’s gonna get in touch with any of us. Keaton… He told her I handed her over to him.”

“What?! Don’t worry, Weller. Jane has to know that you would never—”

“I arrested her. I put cuffs on her, pushed her into the backseat of my car, marched her into holding and left her there.” Guilt was still eating him alive, the images of the basement and its grisly array of torture devices refusing to leave him. “I really doubt she’ll reach out. Especially since she didn’t even know we were looking for her.”

After a pause, Patterson asked, “What will you do now?”

“I want to stay in the area another day, just in case I’m wrong and she does call, or if she collapses and gets taken to the hospital or something. After that, I’ll fly home and we can keep monitoring the situation.”

* * *

Jane’s arm was worse when she woke up from her uneasy doze, and her entire body was protesting the hours of walking on top of the months of torture she’d had to endure. The persistent waves of pain made her sick to her stomach. As much as she wanted to get out of Oregon, her common sense overruled her. She needed bedrest, in an actual bed.

Carefully, she gathered her stolen possessions, recounted her money, then set off at a slower pace than she’d managed yesterday. Without a phone or map to help her, it took three hours of walking and guesswork to find a motel. Sure, she could have boosted a car, but the CIA would be carefully monitoring any stolen vehicles in the area, and she wanted them to remain as clueless as possible.

The motel was not quite a dump, but it had seen better days and all the fixtures and fittings were at least as old as she was. The sullen man behind the desk grunted when she handed over enough cash for a night’s stay, and pushed a key across to her. She signed the register as Helen Overton and prayed the CIA wouldn’t be checking motel register names against drivers’ license photos at the DMV.

When she entered the room, the sight of the bed made her burst into tears. For about fifteen minutes, she just lay there, luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the smell of the clean pillowcase beneath her head, with her eyes closed. Then her gaze began to wander around the room, and she gave a soft gasp.

_I can have a bath! A real, honest to God bath!_

Her excitement was short-lived, however. She ran the hot water with no trouble, adding the complimentary bubble bath and smiling at the lavender fragrance, though she’d never particularly cared for lavender before today. When it came to undressing, though, her inflamed shoulder would not obey her. The snug shirt she’d wiggled into with some difficulty yesterday was now impossible to get out of. Every time she tried, the pain got so bad she had to bite back a cry.

A knock on the door made her forget everything else. On high alert, she crossed to the peephole, braced to see her torturers waiting outside, but found only a tall, blonde woman she didn’t recognise. Frowning, she opened the door a crack.

“Yes?”

The young woman gasped at the sight of her black eye and bruised cheekbone, then shook her head. When she spoke, her voice had a thick Slavic accent. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you, but my husband owns this motel. My name is Kalina. I saw you when you were checking in, and I thought you might appreciate this.”

She held up a half-full tube in Jane’s line of sight. Carefully, Jane took it and read the label—it was arnica cream, for the treatment of bruises.

Remembering the unfriendly demeanour of the man behind the reception desk, and seeing the loneliness and sympathy on his wife’s face, she began to build a picture of the situation and gave the woman a small smile. “Thank you. Would you like to come in for a moment?”

“I do not want to impose…” the woman demurred, but Jane opened the door wider and ushered her in.

“Are you Russian?” Jane asked, in what she hoped was the woman’s native tongue.

Kalina’s face lit up as she replied in the same language. “You speak my language? That makes me so happy. I don’t get much chance to use it these days. My husband…” She shifted uncomfortably. “He does not speak Russian, and he doesn’t like it when I do either.”

Jane gestured for her to sit down on the bed, and asked, “How did you and your husband meet, Kalina?”

The blonde squirmed a little with embarrassment. “I was a mail order bride.”

Jane held up the tube. “And he has a temper?”

Kalina nodded, her eyes on her hands, which were twisting in her lap. “I’m sorry I am here bothering you, but it was obvious you’re in some kind of similar situation, and I just wanted to talk to someone who would understand. Please don’t mention it to my husband.”

“I won’t put you in a bad situation,” Jane promised. “How long until you have a green card and you can divorce him?”

“I want to wait three years to be safe.” Kalina’s eyes teared up. “I didn’t believe my parents when they said only desperate men bought mail order brides. Men who could never get a wife any other way. They were right when it came to my husband, though. No woman would put up with him if there wasn’t money involved.”

“You could just go back to Russia?” Jane suggested gently.

Kalina shook her head and straightened her back. “I like it here. I hope one day I can meet a decent man and marry for love. I just want to get through this and start a real life.”

“Okay.” Jane took her hand and squeezed it. “You know your own situation best.”

“But tell me about you,” Kalina said, squeezing back. “You are the one in trouble at the moment. Who did this to you? A husband? Boyfriend?”

Jane didn’t want to lie to her, but telling the truth was out of the question. She settled for half-truths. “A man named Jake. He beat me every day for three months because he wanted information, and I wouldn’t tell him. Yesterday was the first chance I had to get away, so I took it.”

Kalina’s eyes were wide as she re-evaluated the injuries she could see. “Is anything broken? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“He’ll check all the hospitals.” Jane shrugged, then winced at the pain in her shoulder. “I’ll manage.”

An idea occurred to her. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use your help getting this shirt off. I think my rotator cuff is torn or something. It hurts like hell, and I just can’t get out of this on my own.”

“Of course.” Tentatively, she reached for Jane.

“Don’t stop if I yell. It will hurt, but I need to get it over with.” Bracing herself, Jane gritted her teeth.

“We could just use scissors? Cut it off?”

“I only have the one other shirt, and not much money. I don’t want to waste it if I can help it. It’s okay, just…”

After a few agonising moments and some pulling and twisting, the shirt came off in Kalina’s hands. While Jane got her breath back, cradling her shoulder with her good hand and blinking back the spots from her vision, her new friend gave a soft cry. “Oh!”

It was hard to tell if she was commenting on the tattoos covering every inch of Jane’s exposed skin, or the bruises discolouring the inked flesh. Large sections of her torso and abdomen were in different stages of bruising, from deeper purple to sickly yellow.

“I have never seen anything like this,” she murmured. “I will come back after your bath, okay? And help you put the ointment on the places you can’t reach.”

“Are you sure? Your husband won’t get mad?”

“He is watching sports at his desk. Nothing else matters to him right now.” Kalina made a shooing motion towards the bathroom. “I’ll knock again in an hour, okay? Do you need me to pick anything up for you?”

“A toothbrush and toothpaste would be amazing, if you know where you can get them without going too far?” It had been so long since she’d been able to clean her teeth with anything but her fingernails.

“Sure.”

Jane crossed to get money from her stolen tote bag. After having every inch of her body scanned by the FBI, and then hosed down by the CIA, she was used to people staring at her body, and she didn’t bother to cover her breasts as she handed over the money with her one good hand. “Sorry about the nudity, by the way.”

Kalina shrugged. “Meh. Nipples do not offend me. So, toothpaste and a toothbrush?”

Jane nodded. “Please don’t mention me to anyone. My bruises or the tattoos. They make me easy to find.”

Kalina left, with more promises to stay quiet and to return soon.

Alone once more, Jane clumsily stripped out of the rest of her stolen outfit, ran a little more hot water into the bath, then sank into the warmth and bubbles. It was a moment she’d remember fondly for the rest of her life: the sheer comfort of the heated water helping her tense muscles to unbunch and relax. It was difficult to shampoo her hair without raising both of her arms over her head, but she managed through sheer determination and the need to cleanse herself of the past few months’ horrors.

She lay in the tub until the water began to get cold, and almost gave in to the temptation to run more hot water. Knowing Kalina would be back soon, she made herself get out and dry off. When the timid knock came, Jane had already applied ointment to everywhere she could reach, put on pants, and wrapped a towel around her torso.

Kalina came back in with a smile. “You look like you feel better.”

“That was the best bath I’ve ever had,” Jane agreed, taking the grocery store bag Kalina offered. She pulled out not only the toothpaste and brush, but also a comb, a small can of deodorant and a bottle of painkillers. “Thank you so much for these. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Shall we get the ointment done?”

Jane nodded. “I can manage everywhere but my good arm and my back.”

She sat facing away from Kalina and removed the towel.

“Kurt Weller, FBI,” Kalina read, her fingers cool with ointment as she touched the tattooed words. She began to rub in the arnica as she continued, “He must be very special to you, for you to get his name tattooed on you in letters this big.”

Jane bowed her head, swept away on a wave of emotion at the unexpected sound of Weller’s name. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Your boyfriend?” Kalina asked.

What else could Jane say? _I had all these tattoos put on me just before I agreed to let someone wipe my memory, so I could be dumped in Times Square in a bag with a tag that said ‘Call the FBI’, and Weller would definitely be assigned to find out who did this to me. And even now, after what Oscar got me to do and the way it affected Mayfair, I still don’t know why I sent myself to Kurt._ Kalina would think she was crazy.

“Yeah, we were together for a while. But I screwed it up by lying to him a few months ago. We don’t talk anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Kalina carefully applied ointment farther down her back. “Is he a violent man?”

Jane couldn’t help but smile. Despite the violence that came inherent to his role with the FBI, Weller had never shown any abusive tendencies towards his sister, his nephew, or even his father, whom he’d always suspected of killing Taylor Shaw. He had always been physically gentle towards Jane, even when angry with her. Even when he’d had her in cuffs, his touch had been abrupt, rough, but never painful.

“No. He’s nothing like the man who did this to me. Violence doesn’t make him feel powerful. He’s one of the good ones.” _And why do I still believe that, even though I know he asked the CIA to take me?_

“Could you go to him for help? You might not be together anymore, but if he is as decent as you say, maybe he can protect you from the man who’s after you.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jane shook her head. “I betrayed him, Kalina. I didn’t mean to, but I screwed everything up, and now he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Do you know that for sure? Or are you just guessing?” Kalina finished up on her back and began to treat her left arm.

“It’s a guess,” Jane admitted, wishing she could stop the tears that tingled her nose and stung her eyelids. “But if I reach out to him and I’m wrong, it will hurt worse than trying to do it on my own.”

“Okay.” Kalina went into the bathroom and brought out some tissue paper. “Here.”

Gratefully, Jane blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Thanks again for the help. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Smiling, Kalina shook her head. “Maybe I can work with people like us once I leave my husband. This was good practice.”

“I think you’d make a great social worker.” Jane picked up her other shirt, which was mercifully looser than the one she’d been wearing earlier that day. She threaded her bad arm through its sleeve before wriggling her head and other arm into the garment. “I feel so much better already.”

“I saw that you’re staying only for one night,” Kalina said. “Do you think you could stay another? I don’t think that arm will be much better tomorrow. You might need my help again.”

“Maybe. I’ll see how I’m doing and let you know.” _And whether Jake is any closer to finding me._

* * *

Weller had just finished calling the local hospitals—checking whether a heavily tattooed, injured woman had been brought in—when his cell phone began to ring.

“Patterson, what’s up?”

“Thank god I finally reached you! Your phone was busy for the longest time—who were you calling?” Patterson’s voice was exasperated.

“I was checking the hospitals for Jane. What do you need?”

“I think I found her! Or this is some kind of weird trap, but either way… A woman called the main NYO switchboard asking for an FBI agent named Kurt Weller. She says it’s a personal matter, about your girlfriend, and she’ll only talk to you.”

Weller grabbed a notebook and pen from the hotel desk. “What’s her number?”

Patterson gave it. “It’s an Oregon number, which is why I think it’s related to Jane. You don’t have a girlfriend at the moment, right?”

“Right,” Weller said distractedly, already trying to figure out how someone could have seen a tattoo Jane would certainly be trying to keep covered.

“Let us know what she wanted! Reade and Zapata are curious too.”

“Will do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any Russian readers who are now thinking 'not all Russian women in the US are mail order brides or sleeper agents, you know!' I know, I promise! :)


	15. Distrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt finally tracks Jane down, but she's not about to trust him easily.

“This is Kurt Weller. I hear you wanted to speak with me.”

There was an indrawn breath on the other end of the line. “Perhaps. You need to answer my questions first.” The woman sounded Russian or Eastern European.

“If this is what I think it is, I’m happy to do that, ma’am.” Weller stood up and walked over to the window, trying to contain his nervous energy. If this woman knew where Jane was, he’d play along.

“First, can you tell me where you work?”

“I’m an FBI agent. May I ask your name?” It would be something to go on in case she changed her mind.

“It’s Kalina.”

He could have pressed her for more details, but figured there were few enough people named Kalina in Oregon that they should be able to track her down if necessary. “What else do you need, Kalina?”

“Has anyone ever tattooed your name on their body?” she asked.

“Yes.” Hoping to hurry her along, he answered as briefly as he could.

“Where on their body, and what does it look like?”

He’d stared at the pictures of that damn tattoo for hours of his life. Describing it was no trouble. “Between her shoulder blades. All capital letters. ‘Kurt’ at the top in block letters, then ‘Weller’ in negative space—flesh-coloured letters on a black background—underneath.  ‘FBI’ under that, in the same style as ‘Kurt’.”

“I’ve seen that tattoo recently,” Kalina said. “The woman it belonged to didn’t want me to call you. She said you were no longer speaking. I’m hoping I am doing the right thing by calling anyway. The way she spoke about you made me think you might help her.”

“I know she’s in trouble. I haven’t been able to find her but I know she’s been tortured.”

“How do you know that if you haven’t been speaking to her? Are you with the one she called Jake?” Instantly, the woman’s voice turned chilly.

It took a moment for Weller to realise she meant Keaton. For Jane to have referred to him by his given name, she must not have known his surname.

“I’m not with him. I’m with the FBI and I’ve been investigating him, trying to track our mutual friend down.” He wasn’t sure what alias Jane would have used when she’d met Kalina, so he kept intentionally vague. “This is all tied in to criminal activity. If Jake finds her first, I won’t be able to get to her. She and I have our disagreements, but I want to keep her safe from Jake and his people. You have my word.”

Kalina laughed sadly. “I very much hope I’m not about to make a horrible mistake.”

“I want to see her, or talk to her. Is she with you? Please.”

The other end of the line was quiet for a long moment. Kurt counted his heartbeats, waiting, holding his breath.

When she spoke again, it was to name a motel on the other side of town, and to give a room number. She hung up without saying goodbye.

Kurt had never moved so fast in his life.

* * *

Something had been bugging Jane ever since Kalina had left. She didn’t doubt the woman’s good intentions, but letting her see the tattoos, and discussing Weller, now felt like a mistake. Being shown kindness after three months of nothing but cruelty had made her lower her guard.

Now she was clean and her wounds taken care of, Jane made herself get into bed for some much needed comfort and rest. That was the whole reason she’d gone against her instincts and rented a motel room in the first place. She was restless, however, only falling asleep for a few minutes at a time before jolting awake again.

_I should have bought a gun. Saving money is a good plan, but not if I get captured before I can spend it._

She was in no shape to resist if her torturers came calling. Okay, she might get in a few kicks or punches, but her reflexes were dulled by pain and she had no mace to increase the force of her attacks. She wished she’d brought it with her from the black site.

The motel room didn’t really have much she could use to defend herself. After a few minutes of thought, she positioned the chair nearer to the door, and fashioned some makeshift restraints from the handles of her cloth tote bag. She didn’t want to start ripping up bedding or pulling down the shower curtain—for one thing, her injured arm couldn’t take that stress, and for another, any real damage to the room might make the owner take out his wrath on Kalina.

After a few more minutes of indecision, she put on her shoes and hat, then grabbed some of her spare change. There was a vending machine near one of the exits, and she could use some food.

She bought a pre-packaged sandwich and some candy from the machine, then turned to go back, and froze.

A lone figure was approaching her door, too shadowy for her to make out specific features, but too muscular to be Kalina. The stealthy caution in his body language made it clear he was trying not to be noticed, and Jane’s heart jumped. _Weller._

_Not Weller._ That would be ridiculous. He’d washed his hands of her. No, this was someone else with law enforcement training, and that was why her mind was making associations.

She put down her purchases on top of the vending machine and crouched in its shadow, watching. The light beside her motel door wasn’t working, keeping the guy in shadow, but he appeared to be…knocking? _Why would he knock?_

After a few moments, he gave up on getting anyone to open the door and crouched, taking something out of his pocket. _He’s picking the lock. I should just take off now, before he calls for reinforcements._

But most of her money was still inside the room. Her journey east would be much easier if she could stop for gas instead of having to boost a whole new car every time her tank ran empty. Plus, she still had the element of surprise here.

She swept her gaze over as much of the area as she could. No sign of other operatives.

_Take him down. Buy yourself time. Find out why he’s alone and who knows you’re here._ The voice in her head was calmer than she felt, almost as though another person was giving her advice. Her old self, maybe, from before her memory had been wiped.

She crept over, making absolutely no noise, and reached the intruder just as he straightened and pushed the door to her room open. She recognised him now—his scent, his posture; both undeniably Weller—but there was no time for her to react to that because he was moving his hand to the holster at his hip.

Jane pulled his weapon before he could and struck him on the back of the head with the barrel, then shoved him inside the room and down into the waiting desk chair. By the time he’d recovered enough from the blow to start struggling, she had both of his wrists tied by strips of cloth to the arms of the chair, and was aiming his handgun at his chest.

“Jane, this isn’t necessary,” he said, giving one more token test of his restraints before going still.

Jane closed the door to the room with her foot, not taking her eyes off him for a second. “Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to give you the opportunity to arrest me again. Now, where is your backup and how long before they come looking for you?”

“I’m not working with the CIA. I’m here alone. My team is still in New York.” He was assessing her warily, the way any FBI agent would be sizing up the situation if they were being held hostage by an armed suspect, but he was also taking stock of her injuries in a way that made her feel exposed. Naked, almost. And not in a fun way.

“Why?” she asked, throwing her hat into the corner, then giving in to the demands of her bruised body by sitting down on the bed.

“Because I don’t want the CIA getting hold of you again.” He shifted in the chair, shaking his head slightly. His headache was probably going to get worse before it got better.

A tiny spark of hope lit within Jane’s mind. Maybe things between them were not as broken as she’d thought they were. But that spark flickered out just as quickly.

“I’m not stupid, Weller. Torture didn’t work on me, so they’ve sent you in to see if I’ll give answers to a friendly face. I don’t even know why the torture was necessary. I was willing to talk to you. I begged you to listen, and you left me in holding and called in the CIA anyway.”

“Keaton said that’s what he’d told you.”

Her mind was racing, trying to anticipate any tricks or bluffs he might come up with. She couldn’t understand what he meant. “What?”

“I didn’t give you to the CIA, Jane. They took you from us.”

She shook her head. “No, they didn’t. The agent in charge of my interrogation told me you called them.”

Weller gazed at her, his intense focus somehow calming her. “He was trying to break you by making you believe I’d given you up. Do you really think I wouldn’t want to hear what you had to say for myself?”

Jane opened her mouth, but had nothing to say in response. She’d been so caught up in her own assumptions during her time in the black site, with no outside opinions to challenge her. Now that he’d pointed it out, it seemed so obvious.

“This is personal for me. I need to know why my name is on your back. I need to find Mayfair. I need to know why you lied about having memories of being Taylor Shaw.”

“That night, I would have told you everything I know. I wanted to.”

“I know, Jane.”

“Then why did you arrest me?” she demanded, so much pain and betrayal laced through her words that she wished she could take them back. She’d revealed too much. She didn’t want him to know just how much he’d damaged her.

There were tears in his eyes. That was the one thing she noticed before her own vision blurred.

“Because I was hurting, and drunk, and I’d made so many bad calls. With you. With my father. I knew you were keeping things from me, and I needed someone to blame, and I overreacted. And I am truly sorry, Jane.”

She was crying now, the gun resting uselessly in her lap. She wouldn’t be able to see straight to shoot him if he got free. Part of her didn’t care.

“We have issues we need to sort through, but no matter what you tell me, I will _not_ let the CIA take you back. The only reason you were there so long is because we couldn’t find you.”

Jane wiped away her tears, tried to pull herself together. This seemed too good to be true. He had to be playing her in some way she couldn’t yet see. “I’m not untying you. Not yet.”

He shrugged. “I’ll survive. But I want to hear what you wanted to say the night I arrested you. All of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that wasn't too anticlimactic compared to the show! Jane just hasn't had enough time to heal from her wounds to get into a big, dramatic fight.


	16. Past Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane starts to fill Kurt in on the pieces of the puzzle she's been keeping from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this isn't too boring or retreading old ground. Let me know if you have any thoughts! I need to get all the secrets out of the way in this chapter and the next.

Kurt’s head was killing him—being pistol-whipped around the back of the head would explain that—but it was worth it. Jane was here in front of him, angry and defensive and wounded, but alive and free from CIA custody. _Thank God._

“There’s something I need to do before we start.” She got up off the bed and tucked his handgun into the waistband of her pants, hiding it under the hem of her shirt. “Be right back.”

Before he could respond, she opened the door to the room and left.

Perplexed, Kurt tested his bonds again, checking to see how good a job she’d done restraining him. The cloth around his left wrist was restricting his circulation a little. He worked his hand around, succeeding only in tightening the knot, but generating enough slack that he didn’t have to worry about being injured.

There was no way he was getting out of these ties without help or chafing his wrists raw, though. Even off her game, Jane knew exactly what she was doing.

She came back in, closed and locked the door, then dropped a sandwich and a bag of candy on the desk. He must have looked confused, because she elaborated, “Hard to be stealthy when you’re carrying food.”

So that’s why she hadn’t been in the room when he’d knocked. He’d wondered if she’d already moved on, despite Kalina’s intel. Thankfully, that hadn’t been the case.

“Eat, if you want,” he said. “I’m guessing they didn’t give you great meals at the black site.” She hadn’t had any weight to lose, yet impossibly, she’d grown thinner.

Jane regarded the food for a moment before sitting back down on the bed. “Later.”

He guessed she didn’t want to let her guard down just yet. He didn’t blame her.

“If they find me, will you even be able to hold them off?” She pulled out his gun and set it on the bed in front of her, within easy reach.

“I have Mayfair’s job now. She always seemed to manage. I’ll make it work.”

Jane flinched, and he seized the opportunity to broach the subject, even as his gut told him he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Do you know where she is?”

Jane swallowed, not meeting his eyes.

_“Jane.”_

“She’s dead. I’m so sorry, Kurt.”

The grief and defeat on her face would have once sent him rushing to enfold her in his arms. Now, even if he hadn’t been tied up, he couldn’t have moved towards her if she’d asked him to. His body and mind were at a standstill as he processed the words. His old friend and mentor was dead.

He’d suspected ever since Patterson had told him about the blood traces she’d found, but to have it confirmed without a doubt…

Later he would grieve. Later he’d cry. Right now, he needed answers.

“How? Who?”

“A man named Oscar shot her in the back.” She still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I tried to save her. I failed.”

 _Oscar._ The sketch in Jane’s notebook flashed back into his mind, the unfamiliar face and his name written below it. Kurt’s jaw clenched so hard it began to ache.

“Where do I find him?”

Jane straightened, finally looked at him, her expression hard. “I killed him.”

Kurt stared back at her, and a moment of understanding passed between them. She’d avenged the woman who’d meant so much to him. To both of them, if his instincts were still right. It was difficult to trust himself around Jane now, but he didn’t think he was reading her wrong.

And she’d killed the man they'd guessed was her fiancé. Did that surprise him? He didn’t even know.

He wasn’t going to tell her he’d found her notebook, though. If they got to the end of this heart-to-heart and she’d left out one piece of the information she thought he didn’t know, they were done. She was out of his life for good.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said, as though reading his mind, “but it won’t make sense unless I start at the beginning.”

Kurt shifted, wishing she’d untie him just so he could pace the room, turn away, avoid looking at that exhausted, bruised, defeated face. How could one person make him feel so conflicted?

* * *

Jane’s body was aching, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her soul at having to tell Kurt that Mayfair was dead. She’d hoped maybe they’d found Mayfair’s body in the burnt-out barn, that she wouldn’t have to be the one to break the news.

Kurt was taking it well. Or maybe not taking it at all, putting it aside to deal with later. It was what she’d do in his situation.

“The beginning is the night you kissed me, right?”

Jane froze. He shouldn’t have been able to pinpoint it so precisely, unless… “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Had a lot of time to think. You left my place early, but didn’t have an alibi for Carter’s murder when Fischer was trying to find a mole in the FBI. Plus, you changed after that night. I thought it was because of me, because of us. But it was more, wasn’t it?”

Jane sighed and sat back against the headboard, awkwardly rearranging her pillows with her good hand. If she was going to be mentally uncomfortable, she might as well make herself as physically comfortable as possible.

“What happened that night, Jane?”

She’d imagined this conversation so many times that it was almost easy to begin. “Carter and his CIA lackeys grabbed me off the street on my way back from your place. They took me someplace close by but out of the way. Carter started to torture me, but before he could really hurt me, someone shot him dead.”

“Someone.” Kurt’s face was impassive.

“He showed me a video of me talking to the camera. From before my memory was wiped. I had no tattoos; my hair was longer. I said that the man showing me the video’s name was Oscar, that I could trust him. And…”

She took a breath, knowing how betrayed she’d felt by her past self. It would be so much worse for Kurt to know she’d targeted him on purpose.

“The recording of me said that the mission was going as planned. That I did this to myself. The tattoos. The memory wipe. It wasn’t done to me. I wasn’t a victim. I agreed to it.”

Weller said nothing for a long moment. Then, “You’ve known it was your own plan to get all this tattooed on you, all this time.”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“I was the lead agent on your case, Jane. It was my name tattooed on your back. You didn’t think I needed to know this? Where was your head at?” His voice was that kind of low-key furious it had been the night he’d arrested her. She was all of a sudden very thankful she hadn’t yet untied him.

“I screwed up, okay? I know.”

“Yeah, you did. But that’s not what I said. What was going through your head when you decided not to share this information with me?”

“What would you have done if you were me?” she shot back at him. “If you’d found out, you would have shut me out. You would have taken me off the team. You would have kept me at arm’s length. The only people I knew before I met Oscar that night were you and your team, and your family. And I couldn’t lose you, okay? I just couldn’t. I’d already lost too much.”

Silence fell between them. The raw emotion in the room made it hard to breathe. Jane covered her face with her hands and took a shuddering breath.

“I know it was selfish of me. If I could go back, I’d tell you straight away. I wish I had.”

“I understand your reasons,” Weller said, his voice flat. “But I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive me, either.” Jane looked down at her lap. Time to carry on with her story. Dwelling on her mistakes wasn’t going to help. “I remembered Oscar. Not much, just flashes of memory. We’d been engaged before all this.”

“And you trusted him?”

“No. He refused to answer most of my questions, said he was just following _my_ orders. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t trust me. The old me, I mean. But he was the only one who knew who I was, why I’d sent myself to the FBI. I needed those answers. He said he’d tell me more the next night, and not to trust the FBI, and he sent me home.”

“That’s why you weren’t at the park,” Kurt said, as if to himself.

Jane blinked. “I thought _you_ weren’t at the park.” _He was there? God, was I so clueless about relationships before my memory was wiped, too?_

“Yeah, well, I lied.” He stared over towards the door, avoiding her gaze, but she could sense his hurt.

“I wanted to meet you. I just didn’t know how to tell you I had other plans the first night without my security detail.”

“I guess it’s better we didn’t start anything back then, huh?”

His words felt like a punch to the gut. Rather than dwell on the wreckage of their relationship, she moved on.

“I asked Oscar if I was Taylor Shaw. He said I was.”

Kurt scowled. “You believed him?”

“I believed _you_. Why would I have any reason not to? You told me my DNA was a match. Oscar only told me I wasn’t Taylor right before I killed him. I came straight home from that burning barn and I was trying to call you the entire time. To tell you about Mayfair, and to tell you about Oscar, and to tell you about me. Do you believe that?” She sat forward, catching his eye. Willing him to trust her, at least about this one thing.

After a long pause, he said, “Yeah.”

It was a start.


	17. More Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane continues her confession after freeing Weller from his restraints.

Jane attempted to sit cross-legged on the bed, but winced and abandoned the idea, stretching her legs out in front of her instead. Since the moment Kurt had first noticed her injuries, she’d been giving small, unconscious signs that she was in pain. For her to be telegraphing it so plainly, she must really be suffering; she had always been stoic about her injuries.

God, if only he’d found her earlier…

“Weller?”

“Hmm?” Had she said something?

“You’re really not going to like what I have to say next, but I’m gonna have to untie you sometime.”

He read the unspoken implication in her words. “Let me guess. It’s an arrestable offence.”

Jane’s face darkened. “Three months of CIA torture is equivalent to at least a decade of time served in a medium security prison. Trust me.”

She had a point. “I won’t arrest you. At least, not within the next forty-eight hours. That’s the best I can say without knowing specifics.”

Jane didn’t move or speak.

“I give you my word.”

After a few moments of contemplation, she got to her feet and came around the bed to stand in front of him. As she loosened first one bond, then the other, Kurt noticed her fingernails all had bloody bruises underneath them, and her pinkie fingers were swollen and slightly crooked. Still, she didn’t let on how much pain she must have been in as she worked on the knots.

She smelled like an unfamiliar soap that didn’t suit her, but underneath that was a scent that stoked his instinct to put his arms around her and hold on tight. He’d missed her. Even knowing she’d betrayed him and the team in some way, he couldn’t deny the way she made him feel at close range.

The instant he was free, she backed out of reach, warily taking her place on the bed once more. If she hadn’t, he wasn’t sure what he might have decided to do.

Rubbing each of his wrists in turn, Kurt said, “Go on.”

“Oscar…” She paused, then shook her head, a determined expression crossing her face. “Oscar told me I had given him missions to give to me, once I was in play at the Bureau. That the FBI were doing some terrible things and that we were the ones on the side of good.”

Irritated, Kurt opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, he and his team had done to make her believe Oscar was right. Before he could speak, Jane held up her hand.

“If we stop to debate everything he said, I’ll never get through this. Just let me tell you, and we can argue later.”

Kurt folded his arms across his chest and waited.

“The first thing he did was give me a pen. It was an exact replica of Mayfair’s, and he asked me to switch them.”

Remembering one of the pieces of evidence Weitz had thrown at Mayfair when he’d arrested her—an incriminating note supposedly written with Mayfair’s own pen—Kurt couldn’t help himself. “Goddamn it, Jane, how could you?”

“It was just a pen!” she protested. “I took it home and I took it apart. I looked for bugs, trackers, anything that could be used against Mayfair, but there was nothing. I stared at it for hours, but it was just a pen. It never occurred to me that a specific pen could be traced back to a piece of writing. I just assumed Oscar was testing me with something inconsequential, to see if I could be trusted with more.”

“And what did he offer you in return for planting evidence in Mayfair’s office?” He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. They had trusted her, and she’d betrayed them.

“I had asked if the bearded man who’d been shot at my safehouse was one of Oscar’s group. I wanted to understand what had happened there. He refused to answer until I brought him the other pen. Which I also took apart, by the way, to make sure there was nothing inside it.”

“And was he part of your group?” At the mention of the night she’d been attacked at the first safehouse, the memory of the tooth she’d lost came back to him. He was going to have to come clean about Patterson’s test. If Jane was going to be honest with him, she should expect no less from him. But not now. It would derail her confession.

“Yeah. His name was Markos. Oscar said he was talking about the FBI when he told me I couldn’t trust ‘them’, but later I found out Markos had turned on the group and he was trying to warn me.”

“So they killed him.” Kurt tried fixing that part of the puzzle in his memory, but got the feeling it would be lost amid many other pieces by the end of this conversation. He turned and spotted a motel-branded notepad and pen on the desk, and jotted it down. “When did you replace the GPS chip in the car?”

“No. We’re skipping too far ahead.”

He frowned at her.

“The same night I brought him the pen, Oscar told me what Orion is.”

“A military operation, right? Black ops?”

Jane recoiled as if struck. “You’ve known this whole time and you didn’t tell me?”

“Not this whole time. Mayfair left a USB key with a ton of files on it. Orion. Daylight, which is—”

“I know about Daylight. I remembered when I met… Ugh. I’m getting ahead again.”

Kurt gestured to her to continue. “So he told you about Orion. What did he say about it?”

Jane’s expression was haunted. “He said it’s where I died. A mission that went sideways, and I went off the grid. I assume that means whoever I was back then is registered as killed in action. But he said that Orion is why I was there, why we were all there. That’s all he’d tell me. You probably know more about Orion than I do.”

“There’s a lot of encryption and redactions in the files Mayfair left us. We don’t know as much as you’d think. Only that it was a Navy SEAL black ops unit that operated in the Middle East. We’re working on it.”

Jane nodded slowly, filing away the information.

“Go on.” Kurt started a separate page for Jane’s identity, and underlined the word ‘Orion’.

She sighed. “Then Fischer barged in on his mole hunt. Obviously, I wasn’t the Russian mole he was looking for, because he _was_ the mole, but that didn’t change the fact that I was a mole for someone else. I told Oscar that was it. I was out. I was done. Because I was loyal to you, and to Mayfair, and to our team.”

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. She’d dipped her toes in the water, trying to be the person she used to be in exchange for the breadcrumbs Oscar had dropped for her, but as soon as she’d realised the seriousness of the situation, she’d tried to pull back out. That meant something.

It had to mean something, because he needed her to be innocent, an unwitting pawn. He needed her.

* * *

Well, she wasn’t in handcuffs just yet. At least that was a good thing.

“I appreciate that you tried to do that. I’m guessing it didn’t work?” Weller’s voice was rough. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind.

“No. It didn’t work.” Jane rubbed at one of her bruises, only making it feel worse. The pain felt justified, though. She’d been so stupid. “Oscar told me that the people higher up in the organisation had threatened to kill you if I didn’t do what he asked.”

Weller stood up and paced across to the window, pushing the curtain aside a little to check outside. Without looking at her, he said, “My life was in danger, and you still didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell me about it?”

“That was _exactly_ why I didn’t want to tell you about it. What if telling you made things even worse? What if they contacted you and threatened your family? Your FBI clearance was higher than mine. They could have got you to get into things I didn’t have access to.”

“You think I would be blackmailed into breaking the law? You think so little of me?” Kurt turned to scowl at her.

“No one knows what they’ll do until it comes right down to it. I wouldn’t have thought I could be coerced either, but given the choice between doing some small things I couldn’t see the consequences of, and losing you…”

Either he would accept that her intentions had been good, or not. She couldn’t force his opinion one way or the other.

“Did you know your group was threatening Sarah and Sawyer?”

Nausea churned in her gut. “What? No! When? Why?”

“After you shot Fischer, Reade went to Mayfair and told her he was suspicious of your story the night of Carter’s murder. She asked him to investigate, and he managed to find a moment on CCTV that showed Oscar driving Carter’s car, just before it was found. Somehow, they found out. Reade was told to stop investigating, or they’d kill Sarah and Sawyer.”

Jane stared at him. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Baffling her, he smiled slightly. “Yeah? Well, neither did I until after you’d been taken by the CIA. They kept me out of it, and Reade broke up with Sarah to keep her safe. Then she moved to Portland, and Reade told Mayfair about the footage. They backed off Reade and threatened Mayfair directly after killing the woman she was dating.”

That soothed the sting a little. If he hadn’t known, he couldn’t have shared it with her before now. “I’m glad they’re safe.”

“Me too.” He came to sit on the end of the bed.

Something wasn’t adding up, though. Jane frowned at him. “How did Reade know it was Oscar driving Carter’s car?”

Weller hesitated, as though he hadn’t meant to reveal something and been caught out. “I found your notebook a couple of weeks ago. The one you sketched him in.”

Oscar wasn’t the only person she’d sketched in that book, she recalled with dismay. What did Kurt think of her now, knowing she doodled pictures of the men she found attractive in her spare time? She must seem flighty and ridiculous to him. She’d practically drawn little hearts around his picture.

Then she remembered drawing herself, and writing her own pre-ZIP words below the sketch. _You did this to yourself._

“Then you knew before you found me that it was my own idea to wipe my memory and send myself to you.”

Weller nodded.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

He sighed. “I wanted to be sure you weren’t leaving anything out. I didn’t want to mention finding your notebook so I’d know if you were still keeping secrets.”

She reached over and touched his hand, catching his attention. “I’m done keeping secrets from you. I know you have no reason to trust me anymore, but things can’t possibly go any more wrong by telling the truth than they have by hiding it.”

He allowed the touch for a couple of quiet moments, then drew his hand away. “Trust is gonna take time, Jane.”

She rubbed her aching shoulder with a wry look, and he had the decency to look ashamed at the reminder of her torture. “Yeah. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean to have this confession go on so long, but there are so many little angsty moments to pull out of it! Hopefully it's not too tedious a recap. :)


	18. Unburdened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane reveals the last of her betrayals to Kurt.

“So, the GPS chip.” Weller tried to steer the conversation back on course, wishing she hadn’t reached out and touched him. It made it that much harder to stay objective.

Jane took a moment to readjust to the conversation’s new course before she began. “Oscar gave it to me the night before the burning rose tattoo case. He said he wanted to keep tabs on me. I figured it was more likely to be that he wanted to keep tabs on the team, but I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep you safe. I switched the chips just before…you got hurt anyway.”

Weller touched the scar on the side of his neck as he recalled the explosion that had almost killed him. “The assassin who was after you. What happened there? I’m guessing there was more to it than we knew at the time.”

Jane nodded. “I ditched my comms and went after him alone because I recognised him. He was one of the group. I remembered drinking with him and Oscar and Markos, so I set up a meeting with Oscar right away. I knew he was after me, so the team would be safe if I left. And you were supposed to stay at the hospital.”

Noticing her flinching as she shifted on the bed, Weller reached out for the over-the-counter painkillers on the nightstand. “Speaking of hospitals…”

Jane swallowed three of them without water, her lips twisting involuntarily at the bitter taste of the medication. Weller got up and grabbed her a glass of water from the bathroom faucet.

“Thanks,” she said, seeming a little surprised that he’d bothered to help. She drank half the glass, then set it aside. “And speaking of hospitals—not tonight. Last night I slept on the floor in an abandoned building. Tonight is the first night in three months I get a mattress and pillows, so I want to enjoy it, not spend half of it in a waiting room with a bunch of strangers.”

_God, Jane, I’m sorry._ The words wouldn’t make it past his lips. He’d already apologised for his part in her ordeal. If he kept saying it, he was going to sound like a broken record.

Recognising her stubborn expression—it was very similar to the one he got at times—Weller dragged his chair a little closer to the bed and sat down. “Tomorrow, then.”

“I might feel better by then.”

“Sure. And I might start dating Rich Dotcom.”

For the first time since he’d found her, she looked amused. He took the moment of victory—just happy to see her halfway to smiling—and let the subject drop.

“So you went to Oscar when you recognised the assassin.”

Jane’s eyes sharpened as she got back on topic. As she related how she’d spent those hours he’d been terrified for her safety, he reminded himself how competent she was in the field, how resourceful under pressure.

“So Cade wanted to kill you as revenge on Oscar, because Oscar killed Markos?” he summed up, writing down what he knew.

“I didn’t know it was Oscar who’d killed Markos until the night you arrested me. Before that, he just said it was someone Cade cared about. But yeah, that about sums it up.”

Weller moved on. “So next was you deleting Donna Hollaran’s file from the FBI server?”

Jane folded her arms across her chest defensively. “I didn’t know that was what the USB stick would do. Oscar said it would be copying some files.”

“So you thought you were just stealing confidential information, not deleting it.”

“They were going to kill you if I didn’t, Weller.” Jane’s voice was sharp with hurt and anger. “Stop making out like this was all my ide—”

Weller didn’t have to say a word. She’d already proved his point.

“You _know_ I didn’t know. And no, that wasn’t what happened next. Before the USB stick, Oscar asked me to break you and Allie up.”

Flashing back to the way Allie had put an end to their relationship after all of Rich’s little digs about how Kurt and Jane were meant to be together, Weller exploded. “That was completely out of line, Jane.”

She blinked. “What? No! I told him no. He wanted me to get closer to you, to be the one person you confided in. I assume to become that person, I was supposed to sleep with you. But I told him no, because your relationship with Allie was none of my business and I didn’t want to manipulate you.” She gave him a withering look. “But clearly you’re determined to think the worst of me.”

Kurt took a moment to process everything whirling around in his mind. Irrationally, his foremost thought was that Jane had refused to carry out a mission to sleep with him. _That’s good,_ his logical self pointed out. _She didn’t want to manipulate you._

_And she didn’t want to sleep with you_ , his impulsive side argued.

He sighed, trying to pull his thoughts into order. “I’m sorry I jumped to that conclusion. You have to admit, though, it’s not the worst thing you’ve done.”

Jane said nothing, staring off into space.

“Wait. Your ex-fiancé was asking you to sleep with me?” Either Oscar was able to put the mission before everything else, or that had caused him some serious pain. “He must have been relieved when you told him you wouldn’t.”

Warily, she looked over at him again. “Get to the point, Weller.”

He backed off. It was cowardly, but he didn’t want to hear a confirmation that she’d been sleeping with her ex. Someone who would know how to touch her in all the right ways—physically and emotionally. He would never measure up to whatever experience she’d had with Oscar.

_But now you’ll never have to, because your relationship will never recover from this._

He changed the subject, deliberately picked what he knew would be a sore spot for Jane. “So you faked a memory of being Taylor to get closer to me instead.”

Jane deflated, seeming to become smaller and more fragile at his words. “I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”

“You said you didn’t want to manipulate me, but then you did exactly that. How’d you do it?” He hid his pain behind anger, not caring that this tied directly back to the night he’d arrested her and betrayed her trust.

“Oscar gave me photographs from your childhood. I don’t know where he got them. In one of them, you were fishing with Taylor and your dad on a bridge.” She raised her exhausted eyes to his. “I’d made up my mind that I wasn’t going to fake it, but then your dad asked me if I remembered him and I didn’t feel like I could say I didn’t. Then you asked me if I really had, and…”

“All you had to do was say no. That you didn’t remember.”

“But I wanted to remember. I wanted those memories for real. Yes, I lied. But I didn’t do it to manipulate you, Weller. I did it because I wanted to be closer to you. Because I wanted that connection between us.”

Something in her words resonated painfully with the way he felt about her. He’d kept the tooth isotope results from her because he’d needed her to be Taylor, in the same way that she’d lied because she’d also felt that need. He wanted to blame her. Part of him did. But part of him understood, which kept him from berating her further.

Kicking her while she was down wouldn’t achieve anything.

* * *

The worst of what she’d done was out in the open. For better or for worse, at least she was unburdened now. Jane wondered if Weller would ever look at her without condemnation again. Somehow, she doubted it.

His voice was rough when he asked, “What about the cash with Mayfair’s fingerprints on it?”

She took the respite he offered, small as it was. Anything to avoid talking about the memory she’d faked any more. “I had nothing to do with that. Well, after my memory was wiped, anyway.”

She told him about the way she’d remembered recruiting a suicidal Sofia Varma to help their cause, and how Sofia had taken money from Mayfair and given it to Donna. _At least I had no part in planting that evidence_ , she thought, as she watched Weller write down the details on the notepad.

He glanced over with a frown, his question seeming mostly rhetorical. “What did Mayfair do to you? Why did you go after her specifically?”

Here, at least, her months of overthinking everything at the black site could be of some use. She’d come up with a theory. “I think Orion was linked to Daylight somehow. I have nothing to back that up, but it would make sense, right?”

Kurt had that absorbed expression she loved now—the one where he was sifting through the details of a case, making connections and coming up with theories. “It would explain why Mayfair had files on Orion as well as Daylight.”

“I believe she was a good person. No matter what she did.” Jane swallowed to try to get rid of the lump in her throat, but her voice still cracked when she continued speaking. “I had no idea that anything I was doing was specifically directed at her. When I heard Weitz laying out the evidence that I’d helped to fabricate, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been.”

Weller caught her gaze with his. His face was unreadable, as though he was purposely keeping all his emotions at bay. “This was very carefully planned, Jane. You weren’t meant to see the bigger picture. They knew that if you saw what was coming, there was a very real chance you’d turn on them and tell us everything. So they kept you in the dark.”

“I told Oscar right after we met that I wouldn’t betray my team. He must have been laughing at me the whole time.” A wave of exhaustion hit Jane, and she slumped back against the pillows. “I need to rest now, Weller. I’m sorry. Oscar did give me some more information I think we can use, but—”

He nodded, putting down the pad and pen. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

She slid under the covers slowly, taking care not to aggravate her injuries too badly. If she’d ever needed to crash so badly in her life before, she didn’t remember it. _Maybe I’m getting sick_.

“The CIA…” she started, struggling to hold onto consciousness.

“I’ll stay here tonight. Sleep on the floor if I have to.” He looked a little uncomfortable, but determined. After what had happened the last time he’d left her alone while he got some sleep, it was understandable.

It struck her as ridiculous that he wanted to sleep on the floor, especially since there was no spare blanket. “You can have half of the bed.”

“Go to sleep, Jane.”

That was the last thing she registered for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really did take forever to get through! But apart from filling Kurt in on the day she killed Oscar, that's it for Jane's unburdening now. Kurt still has a secret or two to spill, though. Thank you for your patience, everyone!


	19. Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a conversation with Kalina and an uneasy attempt at sleep, Kurt realises just how broken Jane really is.

Even asleep, Jane’s features bore a slight trace of the pain she was in. He’d pushed her too hard, forgetting the mental toll that would accompany the physical wounds of her torture.

When they were younger, Sarah had once accused him of being petty and bearing grudges way past the time he should be letting something go. As it turned out, she’d been wrong about their father. Still, he wondered what she’d think of what Jane had done.

After debating with himself for a few moments, Weller called up his phone’s camera and took a picture of Jane’s sleeping face. She’d be pissed if she ever found out, but he wanted a record of tonight. Her black eye and the purplish-blue stain across her cheekbone would be a reminder to him of what she’d looked like so soon after escaping the black site. He needed to remember what she’d been through so he could keep his own feelings of betrayal in context.

In addition to that, having photographic evidence of one of the injuries Keaton had inflicted on her wouldn’t hurt. Just in case he ever got the chance to make the bastard pay.

For a while, he added to his notes, fleshing out what he’d already written down with details he hadn’t had time to add while listening to Jane. In the middle of writing Mayfair’s name, it finally sank in that she was dead.

_I should have investigated harder while she was in jail. I should have been more vigilant. I should have told Pellington to screw his job offer and gone to help Mayfair investigate. Maybe then, when that son of a bitch was about to shoot her in the back, I could have taken him out first._

The self-recriminations were a pattern his old therapist had pointed out to him over and over again. _Why is it that you think everything is your responsibility, Kurt? You have to let other people take care of themselves._ But that was so much easier said than done. One person could change the circumstances of so many other people’s lives, and if he sat back and did nothing for the people he cared about, who knew what could happen?

Mayfair’s own choices had led to her downfall as much as any actions of his or Jane’s, though. It seemed disloyal to think critically of her now that she’d been murdered, but if she could read his thoughts, she’d laugh sadly and agree. More than anything, Kurt wanted to ask her what her take on Jane’s betrayal was. Any case that regularly kept him awake at night, he’d eventually discuss with her over takeout and beers. She’d always see an angle he hadn’t considered, or balance his tendency to overthink with her trademark pragmatism.

He would miss her for the rest of his life.

Before he could get too choked up, he heard a scuffle outside the motel door. Immediately, Kurt crossed the room to the gun Jane had set down on the nightstand, then moved over to the door as he checked the safety on the weapon.

The peephole in the motel door showed him a very different scene than he’d expected. Instead of several CIA agents poised to strike, Kurt saw a blonde woman gnawing on a fingernail and trying to listen through the door.

With a backward glance to make sure Jane was still sleeping, he tucked the gun into his waistband, then opened the door. The woman stumbled back in shock, one arm automatically rising to shield her face, as though she feared he might hit her.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to check she was safe—”

Kurt recognised the Slavic-accented voice as the one from the phone call earlier. “It’s okay, Kalina. She’s sleeping.”

Kalina exhaled her relief. “Good. She needs to rest.”

Kurt stepped outside and closed the door most of the way, hoping Jane wouldn’t wake up at the sound of voices. “Thanks for calling me. I should be able to keep her safe now.”

“Do you think she’ll want to talk to me in the morning? Is she angry with me?”

“I’ll tell her you were checking on her when she wakes up. I want to get her to the hospital in the morning, too.”

Kalina took a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. “It might be safer if she calls me instead of comes looking for me. My husband will be on the desk in the morning, and if he thinks I was bothering the customers, he…will have something to say about it.”

Reading between the lines, Weller took the phone number she offered. “Do you need help?”

She shook her head with a melancholy smile. “I need to get back to the check-in desk. I’ll call the room if I see…anyone suspicious. Thank you for looking after her.”

Before he could say anything else, she walked away.

Making a mental note to check into the husband when he got back to work, Weller retreated inside the motel room. Jane was still asleep, showing no signs of stirring. He engaged the security chain, then took one final look through the curtain into the parking lot. Keaton either couldn’t find them or was keeping his distance.

He sent Patterson, Reade and Zapata a group message, letting them know he’d found Jane and would update them the next day. Then he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, undecided.

Jane had invited him to take the other side of the bed, but he wasn’t sure he dared to sleep at all. If the CIA did show up, being awake and alert would improve his chances of thwarting any attempt to take Jane back into custody. On the other hand, if he didn’t get some sleep, it would be harder to focus tomorrow.

As a compromise, he kicked off his shoes, placed his gun within easy reach and lay down on top of the bedcovers. Jane didn’t move at all as he made himself comfortable, and he glanced over to check her breathing, unable to relax until he saw the subtle rise and fall of the blankets over her chest.

Turning off the lights seemed too much like broadcasting to any outside observers that he’d let down his guard. He lay in the dim glow of one bedside lamp, wondering how things had gotten so screwed up.

_Three months ago, sharing a bed with Jane was all I wanted to do. Be careful what you wish for, I guess._

He’d been so full of hope for what they could be together. Taylor and Kurt, reunited after twenty-five years with more in common than they’d ever had as children. He’d trained at military school before Quantico; she’d been a Navy SEAL. The way she was able to understand his silent hand signals and work in tandem with him to bring down a target always sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Though she didn’t have any anecdotes to contribute to their conversations, she listened so attentively to his memories and past experiences, and was never shy to challenge him when she disagreed with his orders or opinions.

Now things couldn’t be more different. Although there was only a layer of blankets between them, there might as well have been a concrete wall. She’d never been Taylor, only cruelly preyed on his weakness to infiltrate his inner circle and bring down his mentor.

He wished he knew her real name. The woman who’d planned this—before she’d wiped her own memory and become Jane—was conniving, ruthless and completely cold-hearted. No one with an ounce of empathy could have plotted this out in as much detail as she had, and actually gone through with it. Referring to her as Jane only confused him. Jane was warm, compassionate, protective of the people she cared about at all costs.

Even if that meant breaking the law and taking stupid risks with her own safety.

Could he even trust his own perception of who Jane was? She’d fooled him once, and he’d fooled himself right along with her. Everything he thought he knew, he should second-guess. If she still had an agenda, she wouldn’t get the chance to mislead him again.

* * *

Kurt dozed for a while, too on edge to fall completely asleep, yet too fatigued to remain awake. After a while, a murmuring voice pulled him back to awareness.

For a moment, he couldn’t place where he was or who he was with, but one look at his bed partner brought it all rushing back. _Jane. I found her._

“…n’t know.”

She was shifting in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. He’d lay odds that it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

The next thing she said was incoherent. Kurt turned over on his side to watch her, wondering if he should try to wake her.

She kicked away the bedcovers, her face filling with horror. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she still seemed to be asleep.

“Please, don’t. Didn’t know. I didn’t know!”

Unable to lie there and watch her suffer, Kurt sat up and put his hand on her shoulder. “Jane. Wake up.”

She whimpered, an almost animal sound, and twisted out of his grip. More mumbled, incoherent words spilled from her lips.

“Jane.” Kurt shook her arm gently, trying not to aggravate any injuries.

Her right hook to his face caught him completely off guard, and if she’d been at full strength, the instinctive strike might have done serious damage. As it was, he recoiled from the blow as she cried out in agony, virtually screaming herself awake and hunching over her injured arm.

“Get the hell off me!”

Shaking himself out of his pained daze, Kurt tried to regroup. “Jane, it’s me.”

“Kurt?” Her voice was almost a whisper. He couldn’t tell if she was relieved or distressed to find him there.

“You were having a nightmare. It’s okay.”

Her frenzied breathing caught. “My arm—”

“I tried to wake you and you hit me. Probably wrenched something in your shoulder.” He tried to keep his voice calm through his concern. “Want me to take a look?”

Though he hadn’t reached out to her, she flinched as if he had. “I’m sorry… I need to…”

She stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked, and after a moment of silence he heard muffled sobs.

_What do I do? Do I try to get through to her? She needs to get that arm checked out, but she’s in no state to go anywhere. Damn it, I shouldn’t have tried to wake her. Of course she’s traumatised after so many months of torture._

To give himself something to do, Kurt dragged the bedcovers back onto the mattress and straightened the place up. The simple tasks calmed him down and firmed his resolve. No matter what his feelings were about what Jane had done, he had to do everything he could to help her. Her current condition was because of him.

He went over to the bathroom door and put a hand to the painted wood, listening helplessly as she cried.


	20. Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane struggles to cope as her trauma catches up with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't make any sense for Jane to realise this in her narrative, but please spot the neon flashing signs to hints that maybe Borden has helped her with PTSD once already... ;D

_Just a dream. It’s just a dream. Just a dream…_

Jane concentrated on her breathing, slowing it down as she scrubbed tears from her face with her good hand. Pain pulsed in sickening waves down her right arm, twice as intense as it had been before. She couldn’t get Keaton out of her head. It hurt so badly that he might as well be standing over her, twisting the injured limb and demanding to know her name.

_You hit Weller. Why did you do that? He’s the only one who can keep you safe from this mess._

And he was probably worrying himself crazy outside the door, if she knew him. Then again, she’d never have thought he would have arrested her for the serious crime of not being Taylor Shaw, but she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he didn’t care what she was going through, and was trying to get back to sleep.

The nightmare wouldn’t leave her mind. In it, Mayfair had bled out on the floor while Keaton had swung a length of heavy industrial chain like a whip, hitting her over and over, until the hook she was suspended from had broken and she’d collapsed to the floor. Then Weller had come to stand over her, and she’d reached out to him for help. But he’d only looked at her with disgust.

_“You killed Taylor Shaw. Jane Doe, you’re under arrest.”_

_Just a dream. You didn’t kill Taylor. You were about five years old when she died. Calm down and look at the facts._

Funny how the comforting voice in her head sounded like Borden. Maybe his therapy sessions had been more effective than she’d thought.

She was going to have to go back out there sometime. Carefully, she got up from the bathroom floor and turned on the faucet to wash her overheated, tearstained face. Doing it with one hand wasn’t quite as effective as with two, and the water made hardly any difference to her outward composure, since her puffy black eye and assorted bruises dominated her face. Still, it made her feel a little better.

She took a breath to brace herself, then opened the door.

Weller was sitting on the end of the bed, his shoulders tense. He rose as she stepped back into the room. “Talk to me, Jane.”

Talk to him? And tell him what? If she said she’d dreamed that she’d killed Taylor, he’d probably believe it. If not for the physical impossibility of a five-year-old murdering and burying another five-year-old, she’d be worried it meant something, too. The person she used to be had probably done worse.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically, meaning that she didn’t want to talk about it. Then she winced, realising she probably sounded like a passive-aggressive teenage girl pretending she didn’t want to pick a fight with her boyfriend.

Weller gave her an exasperated look. “No, you’re not. Don’t make me play guessing games, not now.”

What could she say that was safe?

“I had a nightmare and I…I overreacted. Okay? My arm is in pretty bad shape.” Daring to look him in the face for just a moment, she asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“Probably won’t even bruise,” he reassured her, trying a small smile, then stepped forward, reaching out as if to examine her.

She didn’t realise she’d moved back out of his reach until his expression became hurt, just for a second before he shut the reaction down. Awkwardly, they stared at each other.

“Look, Jane…” Weller sighed. “I know you wanted to spend the night here, but I think we should get you to the hospital now your arm’s worse.”

The thought of the bright lights and strange people all around her made the blood drain out of her face.

Sensing her resistance, Weller said, “Please, don’t fight me on this. If you don’t get medical attention now, you might need to stay over in the hospital later, when you make yourself even worse.”

He had a point. _Anything to avoid an extended hospital stay._

She nodded. “I don’t think I could sleep any more tonight anyway.”

“My rental car is parked a block away. Are you okay to walk that far, or should I grab the car and come back for you?”

Thoughts of Keaton flashing back into her mind, Jane shivered. “I can walk that far. Let’s go.”

As if out of habit, Weller reached out to put his hand to the small of her back as she passed him. She quickened her pace, establishing distance between them without quite knowing why.

She glanced at the motel’s reception area as they left the premises, wondering if Kalina was there. Jane definitely needed to thank her before they left for good. She hoped she and Kurt would come back to the motel before they moved on.

“So how did Kalina get to see the tattoo of my name on your back, anyway?” Weller asked, as though reading her mind.

Grateful to have something to talk about that wasn’t her mortifying sleep behaviour, Jane said, “She saw the bruises on my face when I checked in and brought me some arnica. She didn’t say much about her husband, but I got the impression he gives her occasion to need it a lot. She wanted to talk to someone else who had a violent partner, I guess.”

“Yeah, she came by while you were asleep to check on you, and mentioned her husband might not like it if he thought she was bothering the customers. I’m gonna take a look into his finances and anything else I can think of when I get back to the NYO.”

That’s the Kurt Weller she’d fallen for; always thinking about the little things that might mean the world to someone else.

“Thanks. I think having him not be around for a while would be really good for her. She can’t leave him until she has her green card.”

They continued to walk for a few seconds of silence before Jane resumed her story. “Before she came and knocked on my door, I’d been about to take a bath, but I couldn’t get my shirt off because my arm won’t go over my head. I asked for her help, since she already knew about the bruises. She came back after I finished up and helped me put the arnica on the places I couldn’t reach for myself.”

“They’re all over? Your bruises?” He sounded tense, though she couldn’t see his face properly in the dark.

“Yeah.” There was no point in elaborating. It was over now, and going over it again wouldn’t help. “Anyway, that’s when she saw your name and asked me who you were. It was kinda hard to explain why I’d have a guy’s name tattooed on me otherwise, so I told her we were together for a while, but we broke up.”

“Good call.” It was impossible to tell what he thought of that.

“I’m guessing she called you?” It was the only way she could think that he could have tracked her down.

“And made me describe your tattoo and promise not to hurt you before she told me where you were. Smart, but if I’d been a danger to you she would have been throwing you straight back to the lions.”

Jane nodded. “I should probably make sure she knows it might not go that way with the next person she tries to help.”

Once they were safely inside the car and Weller had checked the location of the nearest hospital, he glanced over to her in the passenger seat. “Buckle up.”

She reached for the seatbelt and hissed with pain as she knocked her injured arm against the passenger door. “I don’t think I can.”

Weller reached across her, leaning so close that for a moment, she was about to panic. When he dragged the belt across her body and notched the metal buckle into the clasp, her alarm receded, chased away by a wave of sadness.

Only a few months ago, a close, considerate moment like that would have sent a thrill of arousal through her. Now her primary reaction was to freak out.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

They drove a block or so before he spoke again. “Your nightmare. Want to talk about it?”

It was as though a shutter slammed down, blocking the dread that surged at his words. Some kind of self-preservation instinct that seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn’t remember an instance of it happening before now. She was grateful for the artificial calm it provided as she answered simply, “No.”

Weller clearly didn’t like that answer. “Jane… I went to military school. They taught us all about PTSD, and if you don’t talk about what you went through, it gets—”

“I don’t have PTSD.” He was pushing on the shutter, trying to get in, and she couldn’t let him break through because all the chaos she was keeping contained would spill out everywhere. “It was one nightmare, okay? I’ll survive.”

“Okay. Then tell me about the black site.”

_No. If I don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen. Ignore it, and it’ll go away._

She knew it wasn’t true even as she thought it, but she’d deal with later, later. For now, she had to keep herself from falling apart so she could get through all the clinical poking and prodding.

“Just back off, Weller. I’ll tell you anything you want to know from back before you arrested me, but that topic is off-limits, understand?”

The sharp edge to her tone seemed to startle him, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he set his jaw and moved into the fast lane, retreating from the conversation.

She should have been pleased that he’d respected her wishes, but instead, loneliness settled into her aching body. The distance between them was only about a foot, but it felt like a thousand miles.


	21. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane attempts to navigate the healthcare system without an identity, and Keaton pays Kurt a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any jarring mistakes when it comes to the US healthcare system - I'm in the UK and I have no idea how things work over there, so I'm mainly guessing. :)

“Just fill out your insurance details here.” The woman at the desk held out a clipboard and pen, barely looking at Jane.

Jane glanced from her to Weller and back again. “One, I can’t use my arm to write. And two, do I even have insurance anymore?” she asked Kurt, as he took the clipboard for her.

She’d had coverage when she’d been an FBI asset—just as well, considering she was in the line of fire on a daily basis—but Pellington had effectively fired her when he’d shut down the investigations relating to her tattoos. With dismay, she realised she was probably going to be facing large hospital bills with no way to make any money, let alone afford insurance.

“Not yet. Let me handle this,” Weller told her, nodding to the seating area behind them. “You go sit down.”

The deluge of gratitude she felt for him at that moment made her eyes tear up. Whispering thanks, she walked across the room and chose a seat as far from anyone else as she could find.

How was she supposed to pick up and resume a life that had been so specific and specialised before? Everything that she was now, since her memory wipe, revolved around the FBI. She’d been overwhelmed by the way she’d been so easily cast aside by Director Pellington after Mayfair’s disappearance and Weller’s promotion, but she’d been sure that with Weller’s support, she could transition to some other kind of life.

What was there for her now? She didn’t have anywhere to live or an income. No real purpose, other than chasing after Shepherd, which had to wait until she could actually move without wanting to cry out in pain. No name, no birth certificate, no social security number, no concrete nationality—though she assumed she was American, from her lack of an accent.

She hadn’t had to worry about those things on a practical level before. First she’d been adjusting to not knowing anything, and preoccupied by trying to work out why, and who had done this to her. Then the DNA match had come through, apparently confirming her as Taylor Shaw. When the FBI had officially registered her as an asset, they’d used Taylor’s details for their employment records.

Now what could she do? What was the procedure in cases like this? _Were_ there any procedures in place?

On the bright side, she couldn’t be deported because she had no country of origin.

And, whether either of them liked it or not, she had Weller watching her back. Reluctantly. Because of his guilt complex.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat and stared into space—trying to come up with a light at the end of her tunnel and failing time and again—before Weller sat down beside her.

“I’ve managed to delay the hospital administration team until we see where things are with your case,” he said.

Somehow, Jane nodded.

“Hey. We will figure this out. I promise.”

_I understand if you don’t want to do this._ The words were stuck in her throat. The decent thing to do would be to give him an out, absolve him of responsibility for her and strike out on her own. If not for the fear of the CIA, she would have insisted on it.

Weller reached out, moving his outstretched hand into her line of sight. Before, he would have simply taken her hand, but she must have flinched away from him one too many times already.

How was it so difficult for her to put her good hand in his? The resistance in her muscles had nothing to do with pain. This problem was all in her mind.

Through sheer willpower, she rested her palm in his. Though she couldn’t look at him, she sensed him relaxing as he curled his fingers around her hand.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Life. I thought I had a… a…” _Starting point._ “…a foundation to build from. All the work I put into remembering who I am, trying to find my niche in this world… I thought it was working, for a while. But it’s like I haven’t made any progress at all since I first came out of the bag.”

Before Weller could reply, someone called her name, and they were escorted to a curtained cubicle for her examination. Weller agreed to remain outside the curtain, though she Jane could tell he wanted to know how badly she was hurt.

The doctor introduced herself as Dr. Anderson. She examined Jane’s pupil responses first, concerned about a concussion because of the obvious blows she’d taken to the face. Then she began to inspect Jane’s shoulder through her clothes. Jane gritted her teeth, but was unable to avoid crying out when the doctor started to manipulate her arm.

“We’ll need to do a scan. I don’t want to remove your shirt until we know what we’re dealing with here, but let’s continue taking stock of your injuries as much as we can just by pushing aside your shirt. Do you have any open wounds?”

Jane allowed the examination, and the doctor looked over her various bruises, scrapes, slight burns, swollen pinkie fingers and bloodied nail beds, without commenting on the tattoos or asking what had happened to cause it all. Having an FBI agent just outside obviously helped in that regard. Yet another reason she owed Weller.

“Okay,” Dr. Anderson said finally, making a note. “Let’s run some blood tests just to make sure your organs haven’t suffered, too. I’ll get someone to come and direct you to where you need to be next.”

She pulled back the curtain to reveal Weller, who was staring out of the window a short distance away. Weller glanced over, but the doctor paused and turned back. “One more thing.”

She pulled the curtain mostly shut again, but Jane could still see Weller out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry to have to ask so bluntly, but do we need to run a rape kit, Ms. Doe?”

Weller went completely motionless in her peripheral vision. _So much for doctor/patient confidentiality._

“No,” Jane said, hoping that would be enough.

Dr. Anderson looked dubious, and Jane couldn’t blame her. If any criminal organisation had been holding her for the past three months, the threat of sexual assault would have been a real concern. Jane couldn’t exactly say, _It’s okay, Doc, it was the government who brutalised me. Don’t worry, the CIA don’t rape their interrogation subjects, though they do joke about it from time to time._

“Are you sure? Think about it carefully before you decide.”

“Those people did pretty much everything else to me, but not that. There’s no reason for a test.”

“Okay,” the doctor said, and capped her pen. “Then we’re all done here. Someone will be with you real soon to get you scanned and take your blood. From there, we’ll see if that arm needs surgery.”

As she swept the curtain aside and headed off down the hallway, Weller came to join her inside the cubicle.

“Jane—”

“I know you heard. And no, they didn’t.” She met his eyes, willing him to see the truth in them.

He nodded, searching her gaze for a lie. Some of the hardness went out of his expression, and he relaxed a little. “Good.”

* * *

While Jane was being scanned and having blood drawn, Kurt waited as close by as he could without violating her privacy. If Jane was now in the system at the hospital, the CIA would be able to find her digitally. Kurt wouldn’t put it past Keaton to cut down some side hallways and take her from the imaging unit without him being the wiser.

_Should have called in some local agents for backup._

On the other hand, he knew that more strangers hanging around could damage Jane’s mental health even more than it already had been. He needed to get Keaton to back off as soon as possible, so Jane could deal with her trauma without the very real threat of it reoccurring.

Weller was trying not to dwell on the doctor’s final question in the cubicle, about the rape kit. Jane didn’t seem to be lying about it not being needed, but even so, she was a woman whose power and agency had been completely stripped away. She had to have been dreading the threat of her male captors adding yet another violation to the list, even if that threat had never been realised.

It was already far too tempting to hunt Keaton down and make sure he could never lay a finger on Jane again. If he ever found out the bastard had raped her, or stood by while one of his subordinates had, Kurt would—

“Hey.”

Ripped out of his thoughts, Weller looked up to find Jane standing in front of him, wearing a hospital-issued shirt rather than her own. Her injured arm was held tightly against her abdomen in a medical sling.

“You okay?”

Jane nodded, though she looked as though she were about to crawl out of her skin. “They had to cut off my shirt to avoid any more damage to the arm. This one is a lot like the ones they gave me…back there.”

That explained some of her distress, but not all of it. “How’s the shoulder?”

“My rotator cuff is almost completely detached. They want to operate as soon as possible.”

Weller winced in sympathy. “I know this isn’t what you were hoping for, but…”

“Yeah. I know. They said I could permanently lose some of my arm function if I don’t.”

If there was one thing that would scare Jane into agreeing to surgery, it was the idea that she’d be permanently less able to fight if she didn’t. Weller would feel the same in her shoes. “I’ll be close by the whole time you’re in surgery. Maybe by the time you get out, I’ll have some good news about Keaton.”

Jane tried a smile, but it fell flat. Still, it was more than he’d expected. Maybe she wasn’t as badly affected by her ordeal as he’d feared.

* * *

“So when she gets out of the hospital, where will she be staying?” Sarah asked.

Weller switched the phone from one ear to the other, scanning the vicinity for anyone looking out of place. He was restless and exhausted at the same time, the constant vigilance taking its toll on him. “A hotel, I guess. Or maybe the local FBI office can allocate us a safehouse for a few days.”

“Use my apartment.”

Weller shook his head, though she couldn’t see. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want Sawyer seeing her like this. The bruises would scare him. And I don’t think Jane feels like being around any unnecessary people right now.”

“Sawyer can stay at his dad’s for a while, and I have a friend who’s going through a rough breakup and needs some support. I’m sure she’ll be fine with me staying in her spare room while she cries and listens to breakup songs.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to inconvenience you guys. There are other options available—”

“I’m sure. Jane helped save my life when Edgar and I were stuck in that elevator. This is the least I can do for her.”

“She’ll appreciate it. Thanks. I’ll make sure I...”

_Keaton._

Contrary to the covert approach Weller had expected, the CIA operative sauntered towards him in a suit and tie, his bruised jaw not hindering the amusement on his face.

“Kurt?”

“Have to call you back, Sarah,” Kurt said, and ended the call, rising from his seat just as Keaton reached him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Relax. I just came to talk.”

Kurt looked past him for the expected backup, but saw nothing. Not that that meant anything. “Yeah, and while we’re talking, your people are abducting Jane off the operating table, right?”

Keaton rolled his eyes. “If I was gonna take her now, I wouldn’t risk coming over here to tell you all about it. Relax. Sit back down.”

Warily, Kurt resumed his seat. Keaton settled down next to him. “You must be feeling the strain by now, right? Trying to be her guard dog and knowing you’re just one man against a whole agency? Yeah, I know Pellington isn’t Jane’s biggest fan, so when it comes down to it, he’s gonna be able to overrule any protection you put in place for her.”

“Did you just come to gloat? Because in the movies, that would make you the bad guy.”

“Listen, Weller. We both know she’d rather die than break under torture. She’s had extensive SERE training, or something a lot like it. It would be a total waste of our time to carry on at this point.”

_Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training. That would make sense for someone taking part in black ops like Orion._

“Don’t get me wrong, we want her back. If nothing else, we want to secure her so that any classified intel in her tattoos, or in her brain, stays that way.” Keaton leaned back, adopting a casual pose that didn’t fool Weller in the slightest.

“So what’s your angle? If you want to throw Jane in a hole and throw away the key, why come here and get chatty with me?”

“Let’s just say… I know something you don’t know. Someone will be making contact with you—probably in a few weeks, since Jane isn’t exactly in top shape right now—and I’m guessing a lot of the answers we were trying to get from her might come to light as a result of what they’re proposing.”

Weller frowned, trying to mentally pull apart that statement. “Someone? Are we talking another agency, here?” _How many goddamn agencies do I have to protect her from?_

“I’d tell you which, but technically this division doesn’t exist, so there’s nothing to tell.” As though he sensed Weller was near the end of his patience, Keaton added, “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. They’re gonna need Jane’s cooperation, and yours, if this is gonna work. But I figured I’d let you know, so you can actually get some sleep at night.”

Keaton rubbed the space between his eyebrows, looking less than fresh himself. “I gotta tell you, I’m just glad to be washing my hands of all this for now. I’m well and truly in the doghouse at the moment. You don’t even wanna know how many of my daughter’s basketball games I’ve had to miss.”

“I’m sure it must have been torture for you,” Weller said, his tone acerbic.

“See you around, Weller.”

The first thing Kurt did once Keaton was out of sight was accost the first nurse he saw, and demand to know if Jane was still in surgery, where she was meant to be—and then insist that he checked in person and reported back. Once the bewildered man returned to confirm that yes, Jane was being worked on as they spoke, Kurt allowed himself to relax. For now.

Then he consulted the clock, decided he didn’t care what time it was in New York, and dialled Pellington.


	22. Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To try to shock Jane out of her depressive spiral, Kurt reveals the truth about her tooth isotope test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a little behind at replying to comments at the moment! I'll hopefully be able to catch up tomorrow. Here's another chapter! x

Kurt was going crazy.

Jane had been doing nothing but lying in bed since they'd gotten to Sarah's, three days ago. Her arm was on the mend and her bruises looked better every day, but she was listless, and her characteristic determined spark was non-existent. Weller been ensuring she ate regular meals and helping her to change her dressings, but other than that, he'd honoured her requests to be left alone.

He glanced over at the closed door to Sarah's bedroom, wondering if Jane had finally managed to get some sleep that was uninterrupted by nightmares. The dreaming didn't seem to be getting any better; she'd woken him at least once every night crying out in her sleep. A couple of times, it had been his own name he'd heard.

After the first one, he'd learned his lesson; instead of waking her by touch, he'd stand in the doorway and call her name until she surfaced from sleep, disoriented and fearful. Each time, he'd offered to listen if she wanted to talk. Each time, she'd declined to take him up on it.

When they got back to New York, he'd get Borden to reach out to her. For now, he was just going to have to let her work through things on her own.

The worst part was having to ignore his own justified anger at the way she'd betrayed his trust, and Mayfair's. Kurt needed distance to work through those feelings, but he owed Jane his support. If not for him, she wouldn't have PTSD to begin with, so he was putting his resentment on the back burner for now.

Pellington was dismissive of Jane and her case at the best of times, but when Kurt had relayed Keaton's words, the Director of the NYO had gone up the chain to FBI Headquarters in DC, in an attempt to get to the bottom of the situation. So far, no agencies had come forward with an interest in Jane, but as Keaton had mentioned, Jane was nowhere near fighting shape, physically or mentally. They were likely biding their time.

Back in New York, Patterson, Zapata and Reade were dealing with the news of Mayfair's death in their own ways. Patterson was heartbroken, Reade had shut down and Zapata was hiding her pain behind anger. All of them had loved Mayfair like family; it hurt that he wasn't with them, but he hadn't wanted to delay the revelation while they'd all still hoped she was alive.

All he'd told them was that Mayfair had been shot and killed by Carter's murderer, Oscar, whom Jane had then killed in retaliation. The rest—Jane's role in planting fabricated evidence that led to Mayfair's arrest—could wait until they got back to the NYO.

Weller picked up the paperback he'd been trying to read and stared at the page, reading but not absorbing the words. After a minute, hearing a drawer open and close in Sarah's room, he put it down again and stood up.

It was time to put the fire back into Jane's eyes. No matter the cost to their relationship.

* * *

 

The painkillers were wearing off, but Jane didn't bother reaching for more. Now that there was an option to make it go away for a while, she had taken to waiting a little longer than recommended between doses, convinced that she didn't deserve to be pain-free for long.

Moping around wasn't her style, but she had strict orders from the hospital not to over-exert herself. She'd asked when it would be safe to begin an exercise routine to regain the muscle she'd lost during her captivity, but both the nurse and the doctor in the room with her had made it extremely clear that she was to avoid strenuous activity until she was undergoing rehab with a physiotherapist. Which wouldn't be until her surgical incision had completely healed. She wouldn't be lifting weights until her pinkie fingers—which had needed re-breaking and setting correctly—were free from the splints they currently wore.

As a small act of rebellion, Jane had taken to doing lower-body stretches and a few repetitions of low-stress leg exercises, but for the most part she was resolved to not screw this up. Her body, her training—they were all she had, and she couldn't take stupid risks now that she was free, any more than she could have in the black site.

So while she longed to go jogging or to complete a challenging number of sit-ups, she remained mostly inactive, and chafed at the restrictions set by her own body. When she wasn't attempting to exercise, the days and nights stretched before her, purposeless and empty of promise or optimism.

Sarah Weller had made herself scarce before they'd arrived in Portland, but she'd left Jane a gift—shirts, jeans and underwear in several different colours, all in her size. The shirts were even easy to put on with her wounded arm—some button-down, others stretchy or loose-fitting. She hadn't known Jane's shoe size, but had left a couple of pairs of sneakers and ankle boots in case they fit her, and as it turned out, they did. Jane had cried with gratitude as she'd put on the clothing, not only because of Sarah's thoughtful gesture, but because she was pretty sure Kurt had also been part of planning it.

Jane got off the bed and opened the drawer now, reminding herself that though her life was a total disaster, the Wellers cared enough to make sure she was fed, clothed and sheltered. Weller had picked up a cheap, pre-paid phone for her and given her Kalina's number, and they'd been texting back and forth, staying connected. At least she'd finally made one friend who wasn't connected to this whole mess.

After touching one of her new shirts for a moment, she closed the drawer again and returned to the bed. She stretched out on her back to resume her staring at the ceiling, knowing she was indulging her new, self-destructive tendencies and not giving a damn.

_You don't deserve friends. You don't deserve kindness. Why didn't you just give up and die at the black site?_

The longer Jane thought about her situation, the more convinced she became that living was a waste of time. She didn't even know who she was, and she had serious misgivings about who she used to be from the little she remembered. Why bother trying to get up again when life would just keep knocking her down?

Before she could go into a full-on spiral down into that depressive mire, a knock at the door startled her. Weller had taken to not disturbing her unless he wanted her to eat or change her dressings—neither of which would be due for a few hours yet—or when he was attempting to wake her from nightmares. "Come in," she called, not raising her voice too far, in the hope that he wouldn't hear her and retreat.

Weller opened the door, but stayed in the doorway. "We have to talk, Jane."

She didn't move or speak, unexpectedly paralysed by the fear that he was about to throw her out in the street. Conversations that began with 'we have to talk' rarely ended well.

"There's something…I chose not to tell you. About your case. But you've come clean with me. It's only fair that I do the same."

Jane sat up so fast that her shoulder twinged in protest. "What things?"

Instead of replying, he turned and left, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He knew she'd be following him right on through it.

On one level, it rankled that he was deliberately provoking her, hoping for a reaction other than just her turning over in bed. Even so, she was too curious and outraged to let this go. She was in the living room with him in less than ten seconds.

"What didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

Far from showing the smugness she would have expected he'd feel at getting the reaction he'd wanted, Weller looked serious. Apprehensive. Jane fought off a wave of dizziness at her burst of exertion and sat on the other end of the couch.

"First off, you should know that I…" He paused, then started again. "No, that's wrong. When I decided not to tell you this, Mayfair accused me of picking and choosing evidence to suit my preferred narrative. She was right. I didn't like what it told me, so I chose to disregard it."

"Disregard what? You're not making any sense."

He didn't look at her as he laid it out. "Remember you lost a tooth when that guy broke into your safehouse? I didn't know she was doing it until she told me the result, but Patterson took it as evidence and ran an isotopic profile. There are certain elements in your tooth that point to the region of your birth and early childhood."

All the oxygen seemed to leave the room. "Where?"

"You used to live somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa."

"Africa," she whispered, too absorbed by the information to react to the delay in learning it. "Is that where I'm from? But my accent is American."

"Maybe you moved over here when you were still young, and lost the accent."

For a few more moments, her mind scrambled to place the information, resting inexplicably on an unfamiliar coin she'd sketched in her notebook once. Was it South African? Why did it feel important to her now, when it had just been a doodle before?

Arriving at no conclusions, she instead returned to the present moment to find Weller watching her with trepidation. Waiting for her to fully realise what he'd done.

"You knew where I was born and raised, and you didn't tell me." She wanted to be angry, but she just felt blank. Lost. "Patterson didn't tell me. Mayfair didn't tell me."

"I asked them not to. Blame me."

"Did Reade and Zapata know too?" Had they all been holding out on her? Why hide something so critically important?

"No. Patterson ran the test, and when I didn't act on the information she gave me, she took it to Mayfair. I wouldn't let either of them tell you the truth."

"Because my DNA said I was Taylor and that was the only thing you wanted to hear." Jane's stomach lurched. Just when she'd thought she was done surveying the devastation that Taylor Shaw's ghost had wreaked on her life, yet more rubble crashed down from the rafters to bury her. Would she ever be free of the wreckage?

"I wasn't thinking clearly. I can admit that now. I'm sorry, Jane." Weller met her eyes with a guilt-stricken, remorseful gaze. The man had his flaws and his delusions, but when he apologised, he made sure she knew he meant it.

Not that it meant she had to accept that apology. She didn't know if she could even acknowledge it.

"I wanted to believe you were Taylor. More than anything. But that doesn't excuse what I did. It wasn't fair to keep that information from you."

Out of nowhere, a memory flashed into Jane's consciousness.

_She was running up a set of steps in a dry, dusty town, the foliage completely different from that native to the US. Giggles and exerted breaths tore from her chest, and her sundress flapped around her knees as she reached the doorway at the top. "I won!"_

_Behind her, a young boy's voice yelled, "That's not fair, Alice!"_

"Alice?" Jane whispered, trying to slow her whirling thoughts.

"Jane? You okay?"

She stood up, needing to put as much distance between them as she could. If leaving the apartment had been an option, she would have done it, but though he'd assured her that the CIA were backing off, he wouldn't tell her why. Until she was sure what was happening on that front, she wasn't taking any chances. An apartment's worth of distance would have to suffice for now.

"My name before all this. I remembered. It was Alice."

For an instant, he looked intrigued, curious about the new memory. Then he must have realised how much it magnified his mistake, because devastation crossed his face. "I should have told you right away."

The anger that had been missing before ripped through her with a vengeance now. "If I had known my name or my origins before, I could have weighed that against what Oscar was telling me. If he'd told me I was Taylor, that I was born in Clearfield, I would have known he was lying to me. Maybe I would have had some more memories. Maybe things would have turned out differently with Mayfair. Maybe none of this would have happened!"

Weller was silent, his jaw clenched. Was he angry with her too? He didn't have the right, not anymore.

"You let your delusions blind you to the facts, you blinded _me_ to suit your own bias, and you played me right into their hands. I hope those few months where you thought you had Taylor back were worth it."

Trembling with rage and heartache, she made a beeline for the bedroom and shut out the sight of his stunned expression.


	23. From the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is determined to solve her case so she can leave the FBI's protection and get the distance she needs from Weller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I've been terrible at replying to comments lately! This heat is messing with my concentration a bit. I promise I'll be all caught up within the next twenty-four hours. Thanks for reading! x

_Delusional._ It was probably the least flattering word Jane could have used to describe his actions, but while he chafed at the accusation, Weller had to admit she had a point.

Taylor's disappearance—her death—had been his blindspot for too long. He'd played right into the hands of the people behind Mayfair's downfall, dismissing any thought or piece of evidence that contradicted his desperate hope that Taylor was alive and had returned to him. By exploiting his weakness, they'd gotten to Mayfair.

At least now he had closure. He couldn't be sure that he wouldn't throw himself into a similar situation—if a lead pointing to the reason Bill Weller had killed Taylor ever came up, he'd definitely want to follow it. But he'd second-guess his actions, the way he did with everything else.

_I hope those few months where you thought you had Taylor back were worth it._

He'd been genuinely happy, it was true. Even though he'd screwed up by mending bridges with his father, and Jane had been carrying out orders from the enemy right under his nose, at the time he'd almost felt content.

How much of that had been that he thought Taylor was back in his life, and how much because he'd been falling for Jane Doe?

There was no point in considering that now. His relationship with Jane was in tatters, damaged by her revelations and destroyed by his.

He'd had to tell her, though. It had been the only way he could think of to stop her from slipping any farther into despair. At least now, her anger would counter-balance her self-blame and hopelessness. She'd fight. She'd live.

An hour had passed since she'd stormed back into the bedroom, putting as much distance between them as she possibly could. Had she regained any more memories? Remembering her name, even only her first name, was a huge step. Maybe her recollections would come faster now.

And he'd been the one to delay her progress. He wondered if Mayfair would have said, _I told you it was a mistake not to tell her_.

"Weller."

He hadn't heard Jane come back into the room, yet somehow wasn't surprised to find her here so soon after their argument.

"Jane," he said, keeping his voice neutral. Then he wondered if he should have used the name she'd remembered. Would she want to go by Alice now? It didn't suit her.

Then again—now that he was forcing himself to think clearly—Taylor didn't suit her, either.

Jane stood in the middle of the room, her good arm hugging her abdomen defensively. "I want this over. I want the case solved. Then I want to remove that goddamn tattoo of your name from my back, go somewhere far away and get the hell on with my life, whatever that means."

Hearing her rail against the tattoo of his name cut more deeply than anything else she'd confessed to him. A jolt of adrenaline hit his system, his pulse pounded, and with crystal clarity, he realised just how much she meant to him.

_No. I don't care what she's done. What we've done to each other. How badly we've both screwed this up. I need her with me. I love her._

_God help me; I'm in love with Jane Doe._

For a moment that seemed endless, he couldn't move or speak. Sure Jane could read his mind, he waited for her contempt, her declaration that she could never trust him again, let alone love him.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she glanced around the room, as though searching for something. "I need to make notes but I can't strain my arm by writing. If I fill you in on what Oscar said the night I killed him, can you write it all down?"

Given a purpose, Weller broke his paralysis and found the pad Sarah kept in the kitchen drawer to make her grocery lists. Leafing past a few of Sawyer's drawings, he found a blank page and sat down at the breakfast nook. "Yeah. Ready when you are."

Jane leaned against the kitchen cabinets, as though reluctant to sit down next to him. "I've got a rough idea of the hierarchy of the organisation, at least of the people I met or remember, or heard Oscar mention. Shepherd is at the top. I don't know who he is, but I know that much. I had a memory from before I was ZIPped; I was telling Oscar he shouldn't be my handler, that we should talk to Shepherd about it. Then later, Oscar told me the whole mission was Shepherd's."

_Shepherd._ Kurt wrote it down, remarking, "Does that seem like an assumed name to you? Like a shepherd watching over his flock?"

"Could be. Or it could just be his name. It's common enough."

"Why would Oscar mention the name of the head of the organisation, if he was trying to keep your knowledge of the organisation need-to-know? Seems risky. Did it slip out accidentally?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't think he cared. He stopped keeping secrets at the end, when he was about to wipe my memory again."

A wave of disbelief slammed into Weller. "He _what_?"

Jane laughed bitterly. "I know how to pick my men, huh?"

Something about the way she said that made him pretty sure she hadn't just been involved with Oscar before her memory wipe. It was irrational to feel hurt—after all, he'd been sleeping with Allie on and off for months, after Jane had stood him up at the park and he'd rejected her before she could do the same to him. He'd settled for Allie because he'd thought Jane regretted their kiss outside his apartment. And Oscar had taken full advantage of the situation.

Then the words she'd said sank in, rather than just the way she'd said them. "You're comparing me to him?"

Jane's eyes narrowed. "There are some similarities. You were both economical with the truth."

"I think that's a trait all three of us share."

They glared at each other in silence for a moment. Kurt was the first to give in, fearing Jane would see too far past his defences if they escalated this argument.

Looking back down at the pad, he asked, "Why did Oscar want to wipe your memory that night?"

"He killed Mayfair right in front of me. He knew I'd never forgive him for that, and he panicked. Decided to start over, like he was rebooting me back to factory settings."

Despite her attempt to hide her feelings, to keep her distance from him physically and emotionally, Kurt caught a faint glimpse of the horror she must have been nursing over that memory. Disgust creased her brow, and she gave a subtle shudder.

Jane hadn't been a real person to Oscar. He'd been holding out for the return of the woman she'd been—Alice?—and when he'd realised Jane was there to stay, he'd decided to wipe her out in the hopes of getting back his fiancée the second time around.

Her body might still have been living, but he'd have killed the Jane that Weller had grown to love. Kurt had almost lost her that night, and he hadn't even known it. He had chosen ignorance as he'd cuffed her hands behind her back.

Weller cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. "That's when he told you that you weren't Taylor? And about Shepherd?"

Jane nodded. "I tracked him upstate, to the barn where he was going to dispose of Mayfair's body. He snuck up on me from behind with a Taser, and when I woke up, I was tied to a chair and he was getting out the ZIP."

The mental image was so alarming, he almost berated her for going alone. But he hadn't been around. He'd been in Clearfield, searching for Taylor's body. Biting back the words, he turned his pen over and over in his fingers.

"Okay. Did he tell you anything else?"

"He said Mayfair's removal from office was phase one. That I sent myself to you because you were meant to take her place. All the cases you solved by following the tattoos were meant to give your career such a boost that you'd be the natural choice for her successor."

"And you'd be there to manipulate me, to make sure I acted in Shepherd's interests." The words emerged more accusatory than he felt.

Jane scowled. "I had no idea until he told me."

Weller modified his tone. "I wasn't blaming you, Jane."

She seemed taken aback by the unspoken apology, and took a breath before continuing. "The way Oscar talked about phase two makes me think the organisation is a domestic terror cell. That I—Alice, not Jane—was a terrorist."

Shoving aside the personal implications for Jane for the moment, Weller leaned forward. "Tell me everything he said."

Jane closed her eyes. When she spoke, it was slowly, as though she was recalling what he'd said word for word. "This country is on the brink of collapse. Has been for decades. This government doesn't care about the people. It's too broken, too corrupt. Phase two is about burning it to the ground so we can start again. Only from the ashes can we rise."

A chill ran down Kurt's spine. It sounded exactly like terrorist rhetoric.

"Did he give a timeline? Any indication of their plans?"

"If he had, if I knew that many lives were at stake and when they were at risk, don't you think I would have told you straight away, as you were driving me to the NYO to put me in holding? Or the CIA, if you wouldn't listen?" Jane snapped.

Imagining Jane's fate if she'd confessed to being a terrorist to the CIA, Weller felt his stomach turn over. "It's better that you didn't. I'm gonna need your help to stop them."

Jane nodded, the steely determination back in her eyes. "I need to get back to full strength first, but then I have a few ideas. But for helping you take that down, I want full immunity for everything I've done, and everything Alice has done."

"You'll get it."

 


	24. An Occupied Safehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Jane make their way back to New York to find an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you guys are interested but don't have me on your user subscriptions, I posted a little Jeller one-shot named Marriage Counselling earlier today. And now, here's an update that gets us back on familiar ground. :)

Immunity. At least that was something she could cling to. She just had to get through this whole mess and she'd be free to go build a life free of Alice's influence. A life she chose.

Jane stepped out of the shower and carefully patted dry her shoulder incision before towelling off the rest of her body. A growl of frustration escaped her as she tried to capture her dark hair in a towel turban, while trying not to inflict stress upon her injured arm or fingers. Everything was harder this way, from personal hygiene, to eating, to not punching Weller in his goddamn face.

She needed a session with a punching bag in the worst way, but she hadn't even started seeing a physiotherapist yet, let alone gotten the all-clear for some good, therapeutic violence. Not to mention that until her incision was healed, she had to let Weller poke and prod at her once a day, because she couldn't change the bandages with one hand.

She pulled on the shirt she'd taken to wearing during their wound-care sessions. It had three buttons down from the collar, meaning she could open them and pull the shirt to one side to reveal her shoulder without any modesty issues.

Not that Weller hadn't seen every inch of tattooed skin on her body already, in the images Patterson had meticulously captured the night she'd arrived at the NYO. Briefly, she considered just walking out there without anything on, just to watch him blush and stammer and order her to cover herself up.

Or maybe he'd do something completely different.

Jane yanked the towel off her head abruptly, almost glad when the motion sent a momentary flash of pain through her scalp as her hair tugged free of the twisted material. The last thing she needed was to fall back into lusting over a man who would never again return her feelings. Weller was the most morally upstanding man she'd ever met. He wouldn't want to be with a terrorist.

Even if he did still find her attractive, he'd withheld critical information about her case. She was only still here because she needed him to intervene on her behalf with the CIA. She was done caring about Kurt Weller.

The moment she walked out into the living room and saw him stretched out on the couch, apparently napping, Jane knew she was lying to herself. No matter how much he'd hidden from her, her traitorous hormones still went into overdrive when she was near him.

She'd woken them both last night with her nightmares. Even though she'd made it clear she was furious with him, he'd still brought her out of the dreams by calling her name, staying a safe distance away in case she lashed out. He could have left her to suffer alone, but he hadn't—until she'd snapped at him to get out, and he'd retreated back to Sawyer's room.

Evidently, he was catching up on his sleep a little now. He looked peaceful.

At least one of them was.

Any stirrings of attraction she might have felt were easily squashed by remembering what he'd said. What he'd done. What he hadn't said. Whenever she thought of the way he'd spoken to her the night he'd arrested her—the way he'd _looked_ at her—she felt physically sick.

She'd wronged him. She would never deny that. But he'd wronged her even before she had known about Oscar, by keeping her origins secret from her, and she couldn't forgive him for that, any more than she could for his arresting her without cause.

Jane went into the kitchen to grab some coffee, not wanting to wake Kurt for more than one reason. Her incision still needed dressing, but it wouldn't do it any harm to dry out in the air for a while, either.

Tomorrow she had a follow-up appointment at the hospital, where they'd be checking her healing was progressing as planned. After that, they were going back to New York, and though the thought of a cross-continental flight didn't fill her with joy, it was better than the thought of an awkward road trip with Weller. The apartment felt too small to contain both of them; she hated to think of what a car would be like for multiple long days of driving.

"Hey."

She turned to find Weller standing in the doorway, still half-asleep and rubbing his stubbled cheek.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said, and stepped aside to let him reach the coffee pot.

"And I didn't mean to fall asleep. Let me grab the first-aid kit."

Jane sipped her coffee as he pulled medical supplies out of the cabinet above the kitchen sink. Because of the decisions this man had made, three months of her life had been spent in complete agony and misery. She didn't want to make small talk.

She didn't want his hands on her arm and shoulder, gently examining her sutures.

She didn't want to hold still and allow him to apply a fresh bandage, his careful fingers smoothing the surgical tape into place against her skin.

She hated the way her skin rippled into goosebumps when he spoke, the vibrations from his voice sending a shiver through her.

"Looks good. There shouldn't be any issues at your appointment tomorrow."

Jane nodded, stepped away and buttoned her shirt. Uncomfortable in the silence, she picked up her coffee mug again and took a sip.

"Jane."

_It's funny that we still call you Jane, isn't it?_

She looked over at him, her entire body tense. Last night, in her dream, he'd thrown Taylor's muddy doll at her. As she'd recoiled, Oscar had impaled her on a scythe from behind, skewering the blade through her abdomen.

_We'll find each other again, on the other side of all this._

Weller sighed. "I know it's hard for you to be here right now. And to let me help you with your wound, and with your nightmares. If there's anything I can do to make it easier until we get back to New York, just let me know."

"I don't think there is an 'easier' for us," Jane said, brushing aside the unexpected olive branch and leaving the kitchen before she could tell him exactly why that was.

* * *

Since she'd shrugged off his attempt at beginning to mend bridges, Weller had mainly left Jane alone. Apart from a couple of brainstorming sessions about the terrorist group she'd been a part of—putting together a hierarchy of the players Jane had met or heard mentioned, and the places she knew were connected to the organisation—they hadn't really spoken except about travel arrangements. He'd still woken her up from a nightmare last night, though when she'd ordered him to 'just go back to bed', he'd gone without trying to reach out to her further.

The hospital had been pleased with her progress, but he could have sworn he heard Jane audibly grind her teeth when the nurse had cautioned her against physical activity for at least another week, then only doing a fraction of what she thought she could manage.

During the plane ride back to New York City, she'd clutched the armrests of her seat every time the slightest bit of turbulence had struck the aircraft. Knowing she didn't want his reassurance, or for him to notice her fear, Weller had buried himself in the digital paperwork he'd had his assistant, Brianna, email over to him.

Now they were driving back from the airport, and just as on so many occasions when they weren't rushing to a critical situation, Jane reached for the radio dial.

The station he'd been listening to on the way to the airport was in the middle of _Hate Myself for Loving You_ by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Kurt had to swallow the urge to laugh—not that he actually found the situation that funny.

_I wanna walk but I run back to you  
That's why I hate myself for loving you…_

Either Jane could also relate, or she just didn't feel in the mood for Joan Jett, because she switched stations pretty quickly. After two ads in quick succession, followed by an opera aria so high that it made her wince, she landed on Alanis Morissette—the voice of angry women everywhere—and stuck there.

"Are you sure Pellington is okay with letting me back in the building?" Jane said after a few more minutes of music.

"What Oscar said changed his mind," Kurt replied, a little surprised she was actually speaking to him. "If there's a terrorist plot in the works, he wants the FBI to work with you to get it neutralised."

He didn't mention Keaton's words in the hospital about another agency. Until that actually bore fruit, it was just hearsay, though he would be surprised if nothing happened. For the CIA to relinquish a target, something had to be going on.

Jane nodded and lapsed back into silence until they were a couple of blocks away from the place she'd called home. "I don't have a key to the safehouse anymore," she realised, glancing over at him almost nervously.

"Your new detail brought a new one with them. Don't worry. You're all set."

"Thanks," she said awkwardly, as he turned onto her street. "This place is the only home I remember. It means a lot that I can have it back for now."

By the standards of conversation he'd gotten out of her over the past couple of days, it was practically a hug. It must really mean something to her.

"You're welcome," he answered quietly, and shut off the engine.

Jane had to have noticed the new protective detail that was already outside, but she didn't comment on the shift back to having agents watch her. While she took her small bag of clothing from the backseat of the car, Weller snagged the keys to the safehouse from the agents parked across the street, then headed up the steps to join her. After unlocking the door, he stepped back to let her enter first.

He'd assumed the safehouse would be secure and unoccupied, since the detail was right outside, but Jane froze only a couple of steps into the living room. He almost crashed into her before realising the potential threat and drawing his weapon instinctively.

A petite, immaculately presented South Asian woman rose from the couch with a small smile. "Hello, Jane. Agent Weller. I'm Nas."


	25. Irrational Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nas lays out her plan, and everything gets too much for Jane.

Wishing more than ever that she’d bought a gun in Oregon, Jane cast a swift glance over at Weller, checking he had the situation under control. She was in better shape than she’d been when she’d escaped the black site, and now she and Weller had this woman outnumbered, but she’d had the element of surprise while fighting Keaton’s team, and while capturing Kurt. In a pinch, she could improvise—but it would set back her recovery, and she was keen to avoid that.

Relying on Weller for physical protection as well as his power as Deputy Director of the FBI…that pissed her off. But she had no choice.

“Who are you, what are you doing here and how did you get in?” Weller demanded, staring at the stranger down the barrel of his gun.

“I’m with the NSA. I was hoping to talk to you about a project I think would be in both your interests, but I’d rather not do it at gunpoint, if that’s all right with you. To answer your third question, I just waited until your agents had checked the place, and came in the back. Don’t reprimand them too harshly. They did a thorough job.”

“Let me see your credentials. Jane?”

Jane took the ID the woman offered, examined it as if she could tell if it was fake or not, then read it out to Weller. “Nasmeen Kamal, National Security Agency. Seems legit.”

 Reluctantly, Weller lowered his weapon, took the ID for his own scrutiny, then passed it back to its owner.

“Shall we sit down?” Nas smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“There’s a time and a place for official business, Ms. Kamal, and it’s not after gaining unauthorised entry to an FBI asset’s safehouse. If you want to discuss something, you can make an appointment.” Weller holstered his gun.

Jane very much wanted to know what this woman’s proposal was, but she could hardly undermine Weller after all he’d done for her. She kept quiet, even when Nas’ gaze landed on her.

“Jane, I’m the reason Deputy Director Jake Keaton has agreed not to seek your recapture at the moment.”

Jane’s stomach clenched. She’d been tortured on a daily basis not just by a CIA flunky, but by the Deputy Director of the CIA? What the hell was wrong with this country, that it could sanction that kind of depravity at the highest level?

“In that case, thank you,” she said carefully, “but I’m not sure why you’d do that for me.”

“I’d like to explain, if I may.” Nas gave them both questioning looks.

Weller sighed. “Make it quick.”

They sat down—Weller and Jane on the couch, and Nas at the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“I work for an off-the-books branch of the NSA named Zero Division,” Nas explained. “I’ve been monitoring Jane ever since she was dropped off in Times Square, because I know who put her there.”

“What? This whole time, you’ve known where I came from? What the hell is it with people revealing things they know about me this week?” Jane looked from her to Weller, trying to gauge if this was something else he’d failed to mention.

He looked as taken aback as she was, thank God. If he hadn’t been, she would have given him a right hook his face would remember for weeks, and to hell with her healing shoulder.

“Explain,” Weller ordered.

Nas said, “A terrorist cell operating within the United States sent Jane to your team as a Trojan horse. I assume that by now, your team has figured that out.”

“Could have used a little help to put it together sooner,” Weller said, his voice hard.

“We were looking at the bigger picture, Agent Weller. There is far more to this organisation than just Jane, I assure you. They’ve been responsible for over a dozen terrorist attacks in the last decade, and we were unsure as to their motives with Jane. So we held back to assess the situation.”

“And now my boss is dead. Thanks for your assistance.” Weller’s sarcasm made Jane flinch. The night he’d arrested her…in this very room…

Fighting back panic, she said, “If you’re confirming that I’m a terrorist, why aren’t you arresting me?”

Weller put his hand on her arm, an attempt at comfort. Jane jumped up from her seat immediately, pacing across to the other side of the room.

Nas watched the whole thing with a concerned eye. “Jane, are you all right?”

She swallowed. “Yes. I’m fine. Could you answer my question, please?”

“Am I right in believing that you were about to turn on Sandstorm before the CIA took you into custody? That you were about to tell Agent Weller and his team everything?” Nas asked.

Jane directed her answer to Weller, balling her hands into fists so that she could keep her words civil, if icy. “That was the plan, yes.”

“And have you confided in Agent Weller since your escape from the black site?”

“Yeah. But if you’re going to make me recap, I’d like to rest first. I don’t do well on planes and I’m still recovering from government-sanctioned torture.”

“Don’t worry. I was planning to hook you up to an MRI-based coronary lie detector before I get any details out of you.”

“I see the NSA still thinks it’s above the law,” Weller said.

Nas sighed. “Let me tell you a little about the organisation I believe you’re from, Jane. I’ve given it the codename Sandstorm, so that’s how I’ll refer to it from now on.”

Jane nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“I’ve managed to link together over a dozen domestic terror attacks that have been written off as isolated incidents. I believe Sandstorm is responsible for the Kentucky State Building attack, the DC subway bombing, a shooting at O’Hare…amongst others. We managed to cultivate an asset within the group, and they told us about Jane’s imminent arrival in Times Square a year ago. Since then, we’ve been monitoring the situation, but we believe that they’re planning their biggest attack yet.”

“Phase two,” Weller said, the words aimed at Jane.

“I’m sorry, could you elaborate?” Nas leaned forward, her gaze sharpening.

“My handler at…Sandstorm…” It was strange to be able to give them a name, though it wasn’t the one the group had given themselves. Maybe they’d avoided giving themselves a name altogether, to avoid detection. “He was about to wipe my memory again, and he let something slip. That getting Mayfair arrested was only phase one, and that phase two was about burning the corrupt government to the ground.”

“Did he give any more details? A timeline, perhaps?” Nas asked urgently.

“No.” A headache was beginning to build behind Jane’s eyes. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. “If I knew anything that could stop a terror attack, I would have told Weller the first second I could. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I don’t have the energy it would take to convince you. I can _not_ do this right now. Please.”

There was a moment of silence. Weller didn’t say a word in her defence, which only compounded her anxiety.

“Look, I’m going to let you get some rest,” Nas said, standing up. “I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that you don’t have to fear a CIA arrest while Zero Division has an interest in you. If you prove to be uncooperative, however… That’s a different story.”

“That a threat?” Weller said, his voice dangerously calm.

“It’s a realistic assessment of how things will play out. Now, Agent Weller, if you could read Director Pellington in on this and authorise my bringing a coronary lie detector to the NYO tomorrow, we can get started. Here’s my card if you need to contact me.”

Weller stood up and took the card she offered. “I’ll get things moving.”

“Have a restful evening, Jane. I’ll talk to you soon.” Nas smiled at her, then stepped towards the door.

Jane nodded, unable to bring herself to force a smile in return.

“I’ll be right back, Jane. I just need to make sure the agents outside don’t open fire on her.” Before she could say anything, he left on Nas’ heels.

Jane stood in the middle of the living room, feeling completely adrift. She could have gotten so many more answers from Nas if her brain would only function better, but an irrational fight-or-flight response was building within her, and she didn’t know if she could stop it. She’d been so glad to have her safehouse back, not realising what a profound effect being in this room with Weller would have on her mental state.

She fell to her knees on the floor, then realised she was exactly where she’d been when Weller had ordered her to get on her knees while he’d been arresting her. Her distress increased, her breathing becoming ragged and panicked. _I can’t… I can’t…_

“Jane.”

She cringed at the sound of his voice, leaning forward on her hands, her hair falling in her face.

“Hey, hey… Look at me.”

He was suddenly on his knees in front of her, easing her upright, tilting her chin up so that his face was within her line of sight. She didn’t want him to touch her, but his expression was anxious, his eyes searching for answers. Nothing like the cold demeanour he’d had the night of her arrest.

“Just breathe, Jane. I’m here.” Like he had so many months ago—when she’d first panicked at the memory of being led down a set of stairs as a child—he took her hand and pressed it to his chest, letting her feel the steady beat of his heart.

She opened her mouth to tell him that was part of the problem—that he was here—but the sensation of his heart against her palm, the warmth of his body, the genuine concern in his eyes… Somehow, they soothed her soul in a way they shouldn’t have been able to.

“You’re safe. I promise.”

_Yeah, now I have something that’s useful to you._

Even so, as the rhythm of her breathing slowed, instinctively matching his, she couldn’t bring herself to start a confrontation. When was the last time she’d felt another person’s heartbeat? Been touched in a comforting way, when she wasn’t in too much pain to appreciate it?

She closed her eyes, tears spilling from under the lids.

“I’m gonna put my arms around you, okay?”

A part of her mind screamed, _No!_ The rest of her ignored it and crumpled into his arms as she sobbed.

“Just breathe. I got you.”

_Can’t you see, Weller? That’s what I’m afraid of._


	26. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weller, Jane and Nas begin the process of filling the team in on Sandstorm, and on Jane's transgressions.

Jane’s tears were soaking through his shirt.

Kurt swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat, as he stroked her hair. He’d gone out to clear Nas with the protective detail, then come back to find Jane in a full-on meltdown on the living room floor. She’d been slowly unravelling ever since they’d walked in, and he didn’t have a clue what was going on in her head, or how to fix it.

He shouldn’t even _want_ to fix it. He should be freezing her out, leaving her to cry on her own, because Mayfair was dead. Jane had been sent to his team with the express purpose of destroying her life.

And yet Kurt now held a confirmed terrorist in his arms, let her weep against his chest, wanted to cry with her for everything she’d been through.

He realised his thumb was stroking a soothing path up and down the side of her neck; a lover’s touch, not a friend’s. And they weren’t even supposed to be friends. He drew his hand away, intending to rest it further down, below the nape of her neck where her clothing started. She took the movement for him pulling away entirely, and sat back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, getting to her feet.

He rose too, lost for words. “Jane. What brought this on?” he asked after a second.

She turned and began to fumble with one of the drawing pins that kept her tattoo sketches and research in place. She pulled an envelope out from beneath one of the sketches and handed it to him, her eyes downcast.

“You should have this. Pretty sure it was stolen from your dad’s place at some point anyway.”

He opened the envelope to find the pictures she’d told him Oscar had given her. Pictures of him fishing with Taylor and his father. Of them playing in their backyard fort together. Carefree. Laughing.

Anger rising in his chest, he tucked the pictures into his jacket pocket. He couldn’t acknowledge the gesture or thank her. She shouldn’t have had these in the first place.

Had it been Alice who crept into his childhood home and stole his family photos? Oscar? Or someone else entirely?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jane said miserably, and headed into her bedroom. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

So much for learning what was going on in her head. She’d purposely built that wall between them after her lapse of control; all it had taken was a reminder of her earlier betrayal to distract him from his question.

“See you tomorrow, Jane,” he said softly, and headed for the door.

* * *

An hour before Jane was due to arrive at SIOC the next day, Weller gathered his team in his office. It was the first time he’d stepped into this room since he’d learned of Mayfair’s death, and a surge of loss almost took his breath away for a moment as he approached his desk.

“Wow, Weller, you look exhausted,” Patterson said sympathetically.

“Long week,” he said.

“Long year.” Reade sat down at the table on the other side of the office, Zapata just behind him. “What’s the deal with Jane?”

Weller held up a hand. “You’re gonna hear most of it from her. Yesterday, as I was dropping her off at the safehouse, the NSA paid us a visit. Long story short, we’re gonna be putting Jane through an illegal MRI-based lie detector test today. It’s a hundred percent accurate.”

“What does the NSA want with Jane?”

“You’ll find out. It’s not good, and she has a long way to go before I’ll trust her again, but before you hear anything from her, I need you to see this.”

Weller called up a picture of Jane on his cell phone, the one he’d taken the night he’d found her.

Patterson took the phone and flinched. “Oh, Jane. This was done at the black site?”

“She said they tortured her in stages, waterboarded her while they waited for her body to heal so they could start again. She broke out when she judged her body was most able to handle it, when they’d been going easy on her for a few days. So this isn’t even the worst of it.”

Patterson passed the phone to Zapata, who swallowed hard and handed it over to Reade without comment.

“Damn. And this was done legally?” Reade asked, his brow furrowed.

“No. But because Jane has no identity, no nationality and no papers, she effectively has no rights. That’s how they rationalised it.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, contemplating that.

“I want you to remember this when you listen to her. The things she’s done were a betrayal of our trust, and of Mayfair’s trust. I don’t expect you to just pretend it never happened. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s paying for her role in Mayfair’s death every day. I’ve seen her PTSD first-hand. Nightmares every night. Panic attacks. She’s suffering, and she will continue to suffer for months, probably years to come.”

Patterson made a tiny noise he took for agreement. Whether she’d feel the same after she’d heard Jane’s statement, Weller wasn’t sure.

“So you’re saying don’t be mad at her?” Zapata scowled at him. “Weller—”

“Be as mad at her as you want. I don’t expect you to forgive her. But there’s more to this than just Jane, a whole organisation. Keep that in mind.”

A tap on the door made them all look around. Nas opened the door just enough to lean through. “The equipment’s being set up as we speak. Are you ready for me yet?”

Weller gestured for her to come in. “This is Nas Kamal of the NSA. Now she’ll explain _her_ role in Mayfair’s death.”

Nas closed the door behind her and crossed to stand beside him, frowning. “Agent Weller, that’s hardly fair—”

“You stood by for a year and watched while we put our lives on the line every day. The intel you had could have saved Mayfair’s life, and her career.”

His team were listening silently. Zapata’s face held open dislike. Reade was impassive. Patterson’s expression was confused and hurt.

“I’m sure we’ve all made mistakes we wish we’d had the benefit of hindsight for.” Nas sat on the side of Weller’s desk. “Would you like me to fill your team in about Sandstorm now?”

“Go ahead.”

* * *

Jane felt naked in her shapeless medical gown as she was led into a room she’d never seen before. Unlike the standard interrogation rooms, this one was decorated in a dark green marble effect. The other rooms felt too clinical, but this one was almost ominous.

One wall was completely mirrored. She wondered how many people were standing on the other side, observing her.

The unsmiling technician strapped her into the device, hooked her up to various sensors, and she gritted her teeth as he injected what seemed like a gallon of radioactive fluid into her arm. Nas had made it clear the procedure was not optional, but because of Weller’s reaction yesterday, Jane highly doubted it was legal.

Interesting, the corners federal agencies were able to cut when they uttered the phrase ‘national security’.

Nas settled down in a chair opposite Jane, an electronic tablet of some kind in her hands. She nodded to the technician, who returned the gesture and left the room.

“Thank you for coming in, Jane. Are you ready to get started?”

“I have a request, if you don’t mind.” Jane glanced over at the mirror, wondering if Weller was in the observation room, or whether he’d opt to skip hearing the details of her betrayal a second time.

“Go on,” Nas said.

“If possible, I’d like everyone involved in this to observe at the same time. I don’t want to repeat this again. Director Pellington; Agents Zapata, Reade and Patterson; Dr. Borden—”

“Dr. Robert Borden doesn’t have clearance to hear this, Jane. He’s a civilian consultant, not an agent. But the others are all behind that mirror, as is Deputy Director Weller.”

_So I’ll have to lie to my therapist about how I got PTSD?_ Jane was pretty sure Nas wouldn’t appreciate her choosing that moment to ask the question. She’d have to ask Weller about it later.

She nodded. “Then I’m ready to start.”


	27. Do It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane prepares to meet Shepherd.

Weller was the one to release her from the lie detector chair. It was the first time she’d seen him since she’d broken down last night, and he didn’t look to have slept much better than she had.

Jane had hoped the nightmares would subside once she was back in a familiar place, but so far, no such luck. She’d gone to sleep with the window cracked partially open, and that had been a mistake; when her detail had heard her yelling from out on the street, they’d barged in and found her huddled in the corner of the room, her arms over her head.

She’d tried to explain, but the words had come out garbled. Luckily, one of the agents posted had experience with PTSD sufferers, and had gotten the other guy to stand down. That hadn’t stopped them from coming right back in when she’d lapsed into a second nightmare. At least they hadn’t tried to touch her.

“So now everyone knows everything,” she said, to fill the silence. “How much do they wanna shoot me?”

“They’ll need some time to process. Let them come to you.” He sighed. “Your detail said you had a bad night.”

Jane shrugged her good shoulder. “No worse than the night before. Or the night before that. I’m sorry it’s making their jobs harder, though.”

“You understand that they have to come in? That they need to check you’re safe?”

Jane nodded uncomfortably. “Weller… Nas said Dr. Borden isn’t cleared to hear about Sandstorm, or the CIA taking me. How am I supposed to get through this without being honest with my therapist? Can I even tell him about…” _…how I can’t even be in my living room with you anymore?_ “…my arrest? Or that I’m not Taylor Shaw?”

“He already knows you’re not Taylor,” Weller said. “I went to him the morning after my father died and told him about the deathbed confession. Asked him if it was possible he was delirious even when he sounded lucid.”

Imagining how torn up inside Bill Weller’s death must have made Kurt, Jane reached out to put a hand on his arm without thinking. “I’m so sorry.”

 _Are you?_ His remembered voice from the night of her arrest made her draw back quickly. His rejection of her genuine sympathy had cut her to the bone, especially with the implication that she was happy Bill was dead.

“Jane? Where did you just go?” Weller was studying her with concern. It was only a matter of time before he figured out just how much the arrest bothered her. She might as well just tell him, but…

She shook her head. “So I can tell him I’m not Taylor. Can I tell him I was captured and tortured?”

“Yeah. But don’t mention who did it.” He looked apologetic. At least that was something.

“A-and my arrest?” She forced out the words.

Weller shook his head.

Jane closed her eyes and turned from him. “I dream about it, Weller. I can’t just keep it inside.”

His voice was taken aback. “You dream about the arrest? Then talk to me. I sent the team out on early lunch. I have time.”

“No. I can’t talk about it, not with you.” Though she had to admit that it was tempting to turn back around and give him an in-depth explanation of just how insignificant he’d made her feel that night. How irrelevant to him. How discarded. _You’re not Taylor Shaw. You’re under arrest._

Weller quietly said, “If you change your mind, I’m here for you. Anytime.”

“Is there anything else I have to lie to Borden about?” Jane asked, brushing aside the offer. _Damn you, Weller. You caused this. Stop trying to fix it, and face that you broke it._

“Nothing about Sandstorm, nothing about the identity of your torturers and nothing about your arrest. I think that covers it.”

Jane headed for the door. “Then I’m gonna go make an appointment. If Nas needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”

* * *

After lunch, the team assembled—with Nas and Jane—in one of the rooms allocated for Nas’ Zero Division activities. No one but them had access, and Director Pellington impressed upon them the classified nature of the area and their mission before he left them to it. He never addressed Jane directly, and Weller could tell that came as a relief to her.

His team’s reactions to Jane were fairly predictable. When she’d walked in, Patterson had given her a guarded smile and a soft, ‘hi, Jane’, though her body language had been closed off, dissuading any further socialising at that point. Weller appreciated that she seemed to be taking his words about Jane’s suffering to heart.

Reade had given Jane a brief nod, neither friendly nor unfriendly. That was about as much as Weller had expected of him.

Zapata, though, was openly hostile, returning Jane’s hello with a silent glare that discouraged any attempt at conversation. No one in the room had any doubt that she considered Jane very unwelcome.

Together, they refined Jane’s initial plan to infiltrate Sandstorm: call Hobbes on the Joey’s Pizza number she’d used to set up emergency meetings with Oscar. Meet her new handler and tell them that she’d been tortured by Cade, that she’d managed to escape, that she’d proven her loyalty with her actions so far, and that it was time for her to meet Shepherd.

“It’s likely that Shepherd will want to put you back in play as an FBI double agent, in which case, we’ll be able to check in with you directly afterwards and adapt our plans based on the intel you find, and your meetings with your new handler. That’s the best-case scenario, and the most likely.” Nas gave Jane a reassuring smile.

“And if they just want Alice back with them?” Reade asked.

“Then I’ll go in deep,” Jane said, determination written across her face. “I’ll get them to tell me everything I can, and as soon as I can get that information to you, I will. It might be days or weeks, depending on how suspicious they are and how well they keep an eye on me, but…”

“The tracker we’ll be implanting as a false tooth is virtually undetectable. It will help us keep tabs on you and if they take you in deep, it could give us a location of their base camp.”

“ _Virtually_ undetectable?” Weller didn’t like the sound of that. Was Jane an asset or a sacrifice?

“Everything has its risks. But it’s very unlikely they’ll have the technology to detect it.”

Jane looked down at her hands, keeping quiet. Weller suspected she’d be ditching Nas’ expensive tracker the first chance she got.

* * *

The whole team—minus Patterson, who had a prior engagement—drove with Jane out of town to make the call to Joey’s Pizza. Reade and Zapata rode with Weller, and Nas drove Jane in the car she’d be ‘stealing’ to make her fake getaway from Cade.

The false tooth with an implanted tracker was driving Jane crazy. It had a rough edge that kept catching the side of her tongue.

 _This thing is getting tossed the minute I’m out of Nas’ sight,_ she thought, trying to concentrate on the tips the NSA agent was giving her about undercover work. Most of it, she’d already picked up from FBI fieldwork. The rest was just common sense. She made the right noises and tried not to dwell on the mistrust on her former teammates’ faces when she’d entered the room with them.

_Hi Zapata, Reade, Patterson… I used to be a terrorist and I got Mayfair killed. How was your summer? Because mine was torture._

She left the team down the street and dialled the Joey’s Pizza number she’d memorised when Oscar had first given it to her. At first, she thought no one was going to pick up, but then a voice came on the line—not one she’d heard before, and yet familiar, so familiar…

“Joey’s Pizza.”

“I need to cancel my order,” she said.

Was it her imagination, or did the man’s breath catch before he gave her an address to go to?

She hung up, mulling over the exchange, and went back to where Weller and Nas stood, relaying the information.

Then, bidding a bitter farewell to her dreams of being able to hit the gym anytime this month, she added, “I need you to shoot me.”

Weller and Nas both froze. “What?” Nas asked in disbelief.

“Jane, you’ve been through enough. Anyone who gives you more than half a glance can tell you’ve been systematically tortured. A bullet wound isn’t going to—”

She cut Weller off, impatient to just get this over with. “Cade was one of the best they have. If you want me to sell how loyal I am and how difficult this has been, it’s gotta look like it’s cost me something. There cannot be _any_ room for doubt.”

Ignoring Nas’ protest, she addressed Weller directly. “I need you to shoot me. In the side. It’ll hurt a lot less than what Sandstorm will do to me if they don’t buy my story.”

“Jane—”

“You know I’m right. Just get it over with.” She stepped back to give him a better target.

“Were you with Mayfair when she died?” he asked, drawing his weapon.

 _Yes. Good. Get angry._ She nodded.

“What was the last thing she said?”

Something within her faltered, the pain of the memory making her withdraw from her bravado for a moment. She looked up into his face, clenched her fists and spat it out. “She said she wished she could see your face when you found out what I really am.”

Grief flashed into his eyes, sadness and loss rather than rage. That wouldn’t help him pull the trigger. Exasperated and heartsick, she yelled, “I’m the reason she’s dead, Kurt, so _do it!_ ”

He gritted his teeth, and yes, there was the anger she needed from him—

Burning pain stabbed through her abdomen, the shock of it making her cry out. She staggered, spun to find Zapata lowering her weapon with ice in her eyes. “It’s a clean shot.”

For a split second, Jane wanted to cry for her friendship with Zapata, destroyed so easily. But she nodded her gratitude and tried to straighten up. She’d had so much worse from Keaton over the past few months. What was a little pain and blood loss on top of that?

Weller’s hands on her shoulders steadied her. “You do everything you can to stay alive, Jane, you hear me? No matter what it takes.”

Gasping for breath, she nodded. “I can do this.”

He released her, his expression conflicted. “You can do this.”

Jane staggered over to the car, somehow manoeuvred herself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. _I can do this. I just hope I don’t pass out while I’m driving._

* * *

“Zapata, what the hell was that?” Weller rounded on his agent to stop himself from driving after Jane and dragging her straight to a hospital.

“She wanted someone to shoot her. _You_ sure weren’t going to.” The judgement in Zapata’s tone was clear. “I sped things up.”

“She didn’t need that bullet wound,” Nas muttered, shaking her head.

“You took advantage of the situation for your own petty ends,” Weller said, closing in on Tasha. “You _wanted_ to hurt Jane.”

“She’s the reason Mayfair’s dead! She admitted it! Ugh!” Zapata threw up her hands and got back in the car, glowering. “I give up. You don’t see straight when it comes to her.”

Weller turned on Reade. “You got an opinion you want to share?”

Reade stepped back. “I’m staying safely on the fence, here. I think you both have a point.” He climbed into the backseat beside Zapata.

Nas opened the passenger door; since Jane had taken the other one, she was riding back with them. “Let’s get back to SIOC and monitor the situation from there.”

After one final glare in Zapata’s direction, Weller got behind the wheel and started the car. “Ten dollars says she’s gonna ditch that tracker before she gets halfway to Woodside.”


	28. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane improvises when things turn out differently than she expected, while Weller waits for news.

Jane yanked out the tracker not too long into her drive, scowling at it before she wound down the car window and tossed it out. _Virtually undetectable_ was a risk she wasn’t going to take. She’d gone through too much to get killed because of something she could have prevented.

_Sorry, Nas._

By the time she reached the house in Woodside, it was dark, and she was lightheaded. She stumbled on the way up the path, her vision tunnelling.

“It’s you. I can’t believe it’s actually you!”

Jane turned unsteadily and squinted through the bright spots dancing in front of her eyes, just making out a male figure with a hood. He pulled it down and stepped forward, revealing tousled blond hair and a scarred face that seemed as oddly familiar as his voice.

“I’m Roman. Do you remember me?”

Jane opened her mouth to reply, but swayed dizzily and had to redirect all her energy into remaining upright.

“Ah—no, no, no…” Roman realised she was injured and came forward to support her. “It’s okay. I got you. Don’t you dare die on me.”

Jane hoped like hell that this man had her best interests at heart, because she was losing consciousness and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

“Jane’s tracker just came back online!” Patterson barged into Kurt’s office, where he and Nas had just been discussing the Sandstorm infiltration of the NSA, and the need for absolute secrecy with this mission.

“How?” Kurt demanded, adrenaline spiking through him. If they caught onto the fact that she was transmitting, Sandstorm would kill her without a second thought.

“I implanted a second tracker on her belt,” Nas said calmly.

“You _what_?” Was this woman a complete rookie? No wonder three members of her team had been killed by a Sandstorm mole.

“It’s programmed to start transmitting two hours after she left. Look, it’s a backup plan, in case she felt compelled to dispose of the first one.”

Kurt scowled at her matter-of-fact tone. “So what happens if they scan her?”

“They’d do it the second they encountered her. That’s why there’s a delay.”

Because of course, everything would go according to Nas’ plan. Kurt groaned and ushered Patterson back out of his office, shooting a damning statement back towards the NSA agent. “You’re gonna get her killed.”

“You need that tracker shut down, right?” Patterson said as they made a beeline for her lab.

“And I need it done yesterday.”

Patterson shot him a worried look. “You think she’s okay?”

“I _know_ she won’t be if we don’t get this done.”

* * *

Jane groggily fought her way back to consciousness, fighting the urge to throw up. She was in a dimly lit room, a plastic tube protruding from her arm and disappearing into…

“Don’t worry, we’re the same blood type. Trust me. We’ve done this before.” Roman smiled and held up his arm, where the tube siphoned blood from his vein to feed it into hers.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“One of our outposts, where we keep a medical supply cache and a few other things. You’re lucky one was so close by. You might not have made it otherwise.”

Jane struggled to sit up on the cot she’d been placed on, looking around. “I need to talk to Shepherd.”

Roman’s eyebrows rose. “Taylor—”

“I know I’m not Taylor. Oscar told me.”

He rolled his eyes. “He should never have been your handler. What else did he tell you? And where have you been all this time? We were scared you were dead.”

Jane opened her mouth to give him her cover story just as a door opened and shut.

She and Roman both froze, listening.

A male voice snarled, “Get in there.” After a scuffle, someone stumbled into view of the open door, bloody and beaten but still recognisably…

Cade.

_Oh, shit. There goes my cover story._

A man she’d never seen before appeared behind Cade, and looked surprised to find the room occupied. “Sorry. We’ll use the other room.”

He yanked a disoriented Cade down the hallway by the collar. A door slammed, and there was a muffled grunt of agony.

“You found Cade,” she said dumbly.

“Been looking for him ever since you told Hobbes he was alive. We've had him for a few days now.” Roman half rose to his feet, then seemed to remember their in-progress transfusion and sat back down again.

Jane feigned a bout of dizziness to buy herself some thinking time. How could she salvage this situation? _Think. Think._

“I have been in a dark hole for three months. I want to talk to Shepherd, and I’m not saying another word until you take me to him.”

Roman blinked at her, then grinned the same way as Oscar had when she’d tried to get him to talk more about Shepherd. Obviously, there was a joke she wasn’t in on.

“It’s good to see you again,” Roman said, affection shining in his eyes. “Don’t worry. Shepherd will be here soon.”

Jane watched as he examined the gunshot wound in her side, searching her memory. Why was this man so familiar, so important to her? Had she been having an affair behind Oscar’s back? But no—she didn’t pick up on any sexual vibes with him, not the way she had with her ex-fiancé.

“That scar,” she murmured, flashing back to her patchy memories of the other children in the basement. One of the boys had a scar just the same as Roman’s… “How long have we known each other?”

He looked amused. “A very long time.”

“I remembered a basement. And a boy calling me Alice. Was that you?”

Roman leaned forward, appearing fascinated. “Your memories are starting to come back, huh? Oscar said you remembered him a little. Now me, and your birth name. Anything else?”

“A coin?” she ventured, seeing it more clearly in her mind’s eye now.

“You mean this one?” Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin.

With a shaky hand, Jane took it from him and examined it. It was the exact coin she’d sketched in her notebook.

“Why is this important?” she asked, desperate to know. This man must have all the answers she was missing. If she could just get him to open up a little…

Before Roman could say anything else, the door in the distance opened again, then closed quietly. Measured footsteps approached as they both listened.

An African-American woman appeared in the doorway, slightly taller than average height, clearly in fighting shape. Her expression was closed off as she looked from Jane to Roman. “Did you sweep her?”

“Been a little busy saving her life,” Roman said, lifting his intubated arm for emphasis. “It’s not necessary. She’s—”

Jane saw the suspicion in the woman’s eyes and decided to play the only card she could: that she wasn’t transmitting. That should earn her some trust. Scowling, she summoned her anger at the way Oscar had played her and injected it into her tone. “You think I’m wired? After all I just went through for you? You think I’m working for them? You know, if that’s what it takes to meet Shepherd, sweep me.”

Roman sighed and took an electronic gadget out of a box on the table. After fiddling with it for a moment, he began to sweep it through the air a couple of inches from Jane’s body, seeking bugs or trackers. Jane held the woman’s gaze, keeping her defiance strong. If she didn’t get some intel she could use soon, she was going to have to beg for some rest and try again when she woke up.

Roman sat back down, putting away the equipment. “She’s clean.”

Almost immediately, the woman’s unfriendly demeanour melted away, and she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. We can’t be too careful. It’s so good to finally see you again.”

The way she'd been acting—like a superior, a commander—tipped Jane off. “You’re…?”

“I’m Shepherd,” the woman confirmed.

_Well, that explains why Oscar and Roman both thought I was so hilarious. Shepherd’s not a man. And apparently, I’m more sexist than I thought._

Before she could start firing off questions, Shepherd spoke again, knocking Jane’s entire world off its axis. “I’m your mother.”

* * *

Weller laid into the punching bag viciously, sweating and out of breath and not giving a damn about any of it. Would Jane even be back tonight? Had she managed to get decent medical attention for her gunshot wound? Had Patterson deactivated Nas’ second tracker in time?

And what the hell was he supposed to do while Jane was out there, risking her life to prove to him and his team that she hadn’t meant for any harm to come to Mayfair?

They’d already brought Nas up to speed on the files on Daylight and Orion that Mayfair had left them. She was putting her powerful, illegal server farm to work on the encryption Patterson hadn’t been able to crack. Maybe it would yield something useful about why Daylight and Orion were important to Sandstorm; maybe not. But while the computers did their work, Kurt Weller was next to useless.

He’d sent Reade, Zapata and Patterson home, but he and Nas were still in the building, keeping their distance from each other so they didn’t get into another argument.

He gave the bag one final, all-out assault, then hit the showers, his anxiety for Jane never diminishing. God, he hoped she was holding her own out there. She still wasn’t in any shape to defend herself or make an escape.

“Agent Weller, are you in here?”

Recognising the voice of Frank, one of the downstairs security guys, Weller shut off the shower and reached for his towel. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Jane Doe asked me to tell you she’s back. She’s gone straight to your classified area.”

Weller closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks before calling, “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be right there.”

He dried off and dressed in record time, then headed straight to Zero Division.

Jane sat with her head in her hands, looking dishevelled and exhausted. She wore an oversized flannel shirt that bore no visible signs of blood, so Weller was reasonably sure she’d been given medical attention and clean clothing.

Nas sat opposite her, as close to impatient as he’d ever seen her. She was fidgeting with a pen, obviously frustrated by the way Jane wasn’t talking. “There you are,” she said with relief, spying Weller.

Jane raised her head slowly, and gave him a forlorn attempt at a smile.

“How’d it go?” he asked, taking his own seat at the table.

“Well, I’m not dead…” She seemed to view that as an achievement in itself.

“Did you meet Shepherd?” Nas wanted to know.

“Yeah. Apparently, terrorism runs in the family. I’m her adopted daughter.”

Weller stared at her, unable to process what she was saying.

“I met my blood brother, too. Roman. Just as well he was there, really, since he had to give me a transfusion from his own vein.”

Nas was scribbling notes on her legal pad, but Weller couldn’t take his eyes off Jane. “Shepherd is your mother. A guy called Roman is your brother. Did you meet anyone else there?”

“Cade was there. Apparently, he really is alive. That blew the cover story I was planning to use straight to hell, and I didn’t have anything else, so I…” She sighed. “I told them Keaton had me.”

“You what?!” Weller practically yelled. _Every time I think I can trust her, she goes and does something like this._

“Oh, Jane.” Nas was shaking her head.

“You might want to give him a heads-up that he’s a target.”

Nas stood up, frowning. “I’ll get on it. Don’t carry on with the debrief until I get back.”

Once the door had shut behind her, Jane closed her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Weller. I didn’t do it out of spite. You were the one who told me to keep myself alive, no matter what.”

She did have a point. Kurt strove to put her actions in perspective, trying to put himself in her place. It had been an impossible situation. “I know. I was just…not expecting that.”

“I didn’t expect Cade to walk past the door, either.” She shook her head. “Keaton will have the whole CIA to keep him safe. I had no one. Except you.”


	29. The New Status Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane struggles to come to terms with new information and takes a tentative step at reconciliation with Patterson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of feels a bit forced to me, but I'm hoping to be back on form for the next one. Hope it's not too painful to read! :)

Weller stared down at the last box of his father's possessions for the hundredth time. He'd thrown most of it out without trouble. The medical equipment from the guest bedroom had gone to a new home. Boxes of clothing, books, the completed crossword puzzle anthologies Bill had gone through before he'd gotten too sick to think properly… All gone. Now there were just a couple of shirts, a pair of shoes, a framed picture of the three of them—Sarah, Bill and Kurt—that had sat by his father's bedside. Just one small box containing the remainder of his father's last few months of life.

He wanted to throw it out with everything in his soul, but he couldn't make himself touch it. It had sat there on the floor for three months, from back when there'd been a bigger pile of stuff to donate or throw away. The rest of it had gone. This had stayed.

He turned his back on it, a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. It wasn't like he didn't already have a million other things to worry about. Jane's connection to Sandstorm went deeper than he could ever have imagined. She was suffering both mentally and physically, and he had no idea where he stood when it came to helping her; or if she even wanted his help. If he should even want to help her as much as he did.

His team were still grieving for Mayfair, and so was he. Nas was an unknown commodity, so invested in bringing Sandstorm down that everything else was secondary. And the CIA were on the warpath again because Jane had thrown Keaton's identity to terrorists.

And though he wanted to hate her, he was in love with her. Despite it all.

Bill Weller's possessions should have been the most trivial of matters, and yet he couldn't let go of them. It was just one more thing to loathe about the man who'd raised him and lied to him for so many years.

Work was something he could focus on. It was the only thing keeping him sane at this point. They were taking a day off to catch up on sleep, and to allow Jane to recuperate a little from her gunshot wound, but tomorrow they'd be getting back to work on the tattoos, to make things look as normal as possible from Sandstorm's perspective.

He'd asked Jane if she needed him to drive her home early that morning, as the sun rose over the city. She'd declined, saying the agents from her protective detail were waiting for her. Weller wondered if she'd slept any better than he had. It didn't seem likely.

* * *

_Remi. My name was Remi._

She'd once heard Oscar whisper it during sex, but she'd been on the brink of climax and hadn't had any idea it was a name, let alone _her_ name. It had been a mystery swiftly forgotten amidst physical sensation, and she'd had no reason to remember it until now.

She'd learned so much last night. Her adopted mother and birth brother were both terrorists. She'd been born Alice Kruger in Pretoria, South Africa, and her murdered parents had been anti-apartheid activists. When Shepherd had rescued her and Roman from the orphanage that had tried to turn them into child soldiers, they'd picked new names to distance themselves from their troubled pasts. Hers had been Remi, but Remi what? Remi Kruger? Remi Shepherd?

And she couldn't tell Borden, who she'd just seen for her first session of PTSD therapy, any of this. She'd asked Nas to consider giving him clearance, but Nas had said something about doctor/patient confidentiality not meaning anything if someone from Sandstorm hacked into Borden's notes, which was a very real possibility if they were keeping tabs on her mental state.

Jane knew she should be focusing on the advice Borden had just given her—she needed to write down her dreams and recurring memories, start to figure out what her specific triggers were so she could avoid them in general life, and face them with his guidance during her therapy sessions. It was a strangely familiar process, though she knew she hadn't gone through it in the past year. Maybe she'd had PTSD before she'd had her memory wiped. From what Shepherd had told her, it was a distinct possibility.

Instead of zeroing in on her recent trauma, however, Jane's mind was drawn further back, to a time she couldn't remember.

Remi was the one she should be blaming for Mayfair's downfall, not Alice. Alice had been a defenceless child, seized by state thugs and traumatised into becoming a killing machine against her will. Somehow, Jane felt connected to her identity as Remi the way she hadn't when she'd begun referring to herself as Alice.

Or when she'd thought she was Taylor.

_It's funny that we still call you Jane, isn't it?_

Jane gritted her teeth, trying to stop the memory from continuing.

_I get it. You don't really feel connected to Taylor. Such a long time ago, wasn't it?_

She clutched her head in her hands as if it would make any difference. "Stop it. Just stop it."

"Stop what?"

Patterson stood in the doorway to Zero Division, looking uneasy.

"Sorry," Jane murmured. "Just…talking to myself."

"Zapata told me she shot you yesterday. How are you holding up?"

Jane appreciated the attempt at conversation. It was more than she'd had from of all three of them yesterday. "Hey, what's one gunshot wound on top of three months' worth of CIA-inflicted injuries, right?"

"We never wanted that. You know that, right?" Patterson stopped awkwardly in front of her. "The second I got the alert that the CIA had checked you out of holding, I tried to stop them. And we searched for you the whole time you were gone."

"I appreciate that," Jane said, just as awkwardly.

They stared at each other in silence for a second.

"Ugh, I'm just gonna say it." Patterson threw up her hands. "What you did wasn't cool, Jane. I thought we were friends, but I don't know how much I can trust you now. I need some distance. But I'm sorry you've been through so much hell. I don't think you deserved that."

Jane nodded slowly. "Thank you. For your honesty." _Though I would have appreciated it back when you knew about my tooth isotope result._ "Did they tell you what I found out last night?"

"About your family? Yeah." She sat down opposite Jane. "Did you have any idea?"

"That my mother and my brother are terrorists, and so was I? That Shepherd rescued me and Roman from a South African orphanage meant to transform kids into killing machines and brought me to America? No. I'm…kind of still in shock." The hugs that she'd received from both Shepherd and Roman had put her completely off-kilter, though. They seemed to really love her. Or love _Remi_ , at least.

Patterson squirmed at the mention of South Africa. "About your tooth isotope test…"

Surprised she'd actually brought it up, Jane tensed. Was she about to get excuses or an apology? Either way, she couldn't afford to reject Patterson now. They all needed to work together to bring down Sandstorm.

"I should have told you. Weller told me not to, but I didn't feel right about keeping it from you. But then David died and I just got so caught up in myself and the tattoos that I forgot. I'm sorry. Weller said you'd remembered your birth name right after he told you, and I know that could have made a real difference to…a few things."

"It could have, yeah." She didn't want to let Patterson off the hook, but she didn't have the energy to get angry, either. "But I guess we'll never know now. How much would have changed, I mean." _Whether Mayfair would still be alive. Whether I would have been tortured._ "People screw up sometimes."

"Yeah. They do."

Something relaxed in the atmosphere between them—small, but significant.

"I'd better get back to work."

"And I should get back to my safehouse. I'll see you later."

Jane watched her go, wondering if things would ever be the same between them. Patterson had been the first member of the team she'd met, and apart from Weller—who'd thought she was Taylor—she'd been the first to reassure Jane that she just needed to find her place in the team, and things would get easier. They'd gotten drunk together. Trained in the gym together. She'd held Patterson while she'd grieved over David's death. They really had been friends.

More than anything, she wished she could go back to that time with the knowledge she had now.

She pulled out her phone to send a text to her protective detail, but just as she was about to hit send, a pager beep from her pocket startled her.

Roman had given her the pager the night before, telling her to get in touch using a payphone or a burner phone the FBI didn't know about. She stood up, hissing softly at the pain in her side, and went in search of Nas.

"I think Roman wants to meet."

* * *

When Weller reached Zero Division the next morning, Jane was putting the finishing touches to a facial sketch of a woman. Beside it was a completed drawing of a man with a scarred face. They were both crude compared to the sketches he'd found in her notebook; one look at the pained grimace on her face clued him in as to why.

"Should you be using that arm yet?"

"Probably not, but Nas needed descriptions and I was bored, so…"

Weller took the drawings from her and studied them. Neither was familiar, though that was no surprise to him. "Good enough."

"But I—"

"Did you miss out any identifying features, or did you just want to shade them some more?" Weller had dated an artist during his time at Quantico. Her drive towards perfectionism had eventually driven him crazy.

Jane sighed and put down her pencil in reply.

"Rest your arm. You might need to fire a weapon soon."

She immediately straightened her back, her expression gaining a new focus. "Are we going out in the field?"

"As soon as Patterson has a tattoo lead for us. You up for that?" He already knew what her answer would be. She handled time on the bench about as well as he did.

"Sure. Just don't count on me to make the kind of shot I did at the Statue of Liberty." She stood up just as he turned away, commanding his attention again. "Nas said Keaton's headed out of the country for a while. She didn't tell me where, obviously."

"Would you tell Sandstorm where he is if you knew?" He didn't think so, but he'd promised himself that he'd second-guess everything he thought he'd known about her.

Jane gave him a wounded look. "Of course not. I wouldn't cry if I found out he was dead, but sending someone to kill him is a totally different matter." After a moment, she sat back down, looking defeated. "Remi, though… Remi probably would."

"You're not her, Jane. You made mistakes trying to do what you thought was best. Remi orchestrated this whole thing."

"Can I really put myself into one tidy box and Remi into another one? Is it that easy? It feels like a cop-out. This morning, I…"

Before she could continue, Nas appeared in the doorway.

"Weller, good morning. Let's talk about Jane's meeting with Roman earlier."

She could feel Weller bristling beside her; that she'd gone to Nas about it rather than him was obviously pissing him off. Never mind that Nas had been in the building yesterday and Weller hadn't, or that the team had been officially taking a day off.

"Is there a reason I was kept out of the loop on this?"

"The message to meet him came when I was in the building after my session with Borden," Jane explained, already knowing nothing she said would appease him. "I went to Nas because she was like two rooms away. Then when I called Roman, he said he'd pick me up at dawn. There didn't seem like any need to contact you since I'd be coming to work right after I saw him, and you'd be here."

"In the future, you tell me _before_ you go out there," Weller said abruptly, training a hard gaze on Jane. "Whether you think it makes sense to give me a heads-up or not. That clear?"

She nodded, truly meaning it. Anything so trivial that made Weller this pissed wasn't worth fighting over. "Crystal."

"Nas?" Weller prompted.

Nas looked as though she was suppressing a sigh. "Understood. Look, what happened out there, Jane?"

_This is what your country thought you were worth._

Jane explained about the memory she'd recovered of a military operation gone wrong, and the memorial Roman had driven her to, where Shepherd had explained what had happened to Orion. As she spoke, the tiny plaque in an out of the way location haunted her. "The CIA thought I was dead. That everyone from Orion was dead. And that tiny memorial was all they thought we were worth."

"That sounds like Shepherd's words, not yours." Nas looked uneasy. Was she worried Sandstorm would turn her with this information?

"Roman was the one who said it, but yeah. I'm guessing the sentiment originally came from Shepherd."

"You must be angry." Nas' words were mild, but the implication was plain.

"Not angry enough to rejoin their cause, if that's what you're worried about." Frowning, Jane resumed her story. "Shepherd said America needs to be saved from itself. I asked how, and Roman was going to tell me, but Shepherd stopped him."

"Sounds like Roman is the weak link," Weller said.

"He said it was a complete reset, but since Shepherd warned him to keep quiet, I don't think he'll let anything else slip. I'll work on him, though. Oh, and Shepherd gave me a tattoo clue. Said it needs to be solved today."


	30. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team tensions reach boiling point, and Weller brings everyone's insecurities out in the open in the hopes of calming things down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a team argument! This has been coming for a while, with some dirty laundry to be aired on all sides. This is about as far as I'm going to dip into team angst about Mayfair and Jane, I think, and the rest will be Jeller. I have more thoughts to share, but I'll stick them at the end of the chapter. :)

Being out in the field made Jane feel almost human again. It had been so long since she'd worked a regular tattoo case with the team. The architecture tattoo on her lower abdomen, which Shepherd had given her a hint to unlock, led them to a case involving stolen DEA weapons.

Zapata's open hostility made it difficult to enjoy the work, though. When Jane had called her on it during the case, Reade had sided with his partner, despite the fact that Jane had saved his life that morning. Weller had shut the whole thing down, making it clear that she was a part of the team until Sandstorm were neutralised, but Jane had a feeling there was more to come if she didn't make herself very clear.

After Weller and Nas dismissed the team, she headed straight after Zapata, catching up to her in the locker room. "Zapata."

"Come to gloat that Weller's taking your side?" Zapata asked, not bothering to look at her.

"No, actually. I came to ask why the hell this is so personal for you. Everyone else is dealing with it. They're not happy, but they're dealing. You attack me every chance you get, when I'm putting my life on line trying to stop my own family. What is your problem that you can't just put your issues aside?"

Zapata slammed her locker and turned to face Jane, rage in her eyes. "You had Weller wrapped around your little finger from the day you walked in here, and even after everything, you still do. He doesn't see straight when it comes to you. I don't know what honeytrap bullshit you're here to pull on him, but at least one of us should be looking out for him."

The word 'honeytrap' made Jane want to squirm. It was uncomfortably close to Remi's original plan for Weller, as far as she could discern from what Oscar had asked her to do. Sleep with him and keep him thinking with the little head, while she called the shots. But that was so far from over, it wasn't even funny.

"Weller is keeping an open mind and a level head, not letting his temper get in the way of doing his job. Do you think I haven't paid for the things I've done since my memory was wiped? Is that it?"

"Mayfair was family, and you helped your terrorist boyfriend destroy her life, and then you watched her bleed out after he shot her. I want justice done for that, that's all!"

"I have paid and paid and paid for that already!" Something came loose inside Jane, her self-control slipping and her emotions shredding her voice. "I know you've been tortured before, because I was hung up there with you when they used that cattle prod on us in Turkey. But that was a mosquito bite compared to what they did to me. Every. Damn. Day. For three months!"

Zapata tried to respond, but Jane slammed the open locker next to hers, unable to control herself any longer. "You have no idea what I have been through!"

"And you have no idea what you put us through! When someone you love goes missing, something inside of you breaks, and it doesn't get fixed until that person is home. But Mayfair isn't coming home, is she? She didn't even get a decent burial, and we can't go get her because if we do, your family will know you told us where she is!"

"Oh, for god's sake, you guys! Enough!" Patterson yelled, pushing between them to force them both to back up a step. "We get it! Jane should feel bad—and she does. Tasha, what is your deal? Mayfair wasn't any closer to you than she was to any of us, and we're dealing with it."

"If you guys were gonna fight, you could at least have made it a bar brawl. At least then there'd be alcohol for the people who have to stand by and watch." Reade headed straight for his locker, shaking his head.

Before Zapata could retort, Weller's voice cut in, low and dangerous. "We are getting this sorted right now. We _all_ have issues around Mayfair's death. She was important to all of us. And we all have our reasons for feeling guilty that she's dead."

"I don't—" Zapata started, but Weller silenced her with a look.

"Mayfair left me her personnel notes, Tasha. You're overcompensating because Matthew Weitz used you to get dirt on her."

"You what?" Patterson stared at her friend, eyes wide.

Zapata looked down at her feet, all her bravado gone.

"Reade. You backed off investigating Carter's death and let Mayfair continue alone. I'm not blaming you, but I know that's gotta be bugging you."

Reade folded his arms across his chest, scowling, but nodded.

"Before Weller says it… I feel bad that I didn't tell Jane about the isotope test on her tooth," Patterson said.

"How does that make you feel guilty about Mayfair?" Reade asked.

Jane had regained enough control over herself that her words were calm, though serious. "If I'd known I wasn't Taylor Shaw back when Oscar first approached me, I would have known he was trying to play me from an early stage. And maybe Mayfair would still be alive."

Patterson nodded. "Pretty much that."

"And that goes for me, too. I was the one who decided not to give Jane the results of that test. I should have investigated harder when Weitz first arrested Mayfair. And I was the one whose past gave Jane a way to infiltrate the FBI. That's where my own guilt comes from." Weller stared at each of them in turn as he spoke. "And we all know why Jane feels bad."

Grateful that he hadn't decided to list all of her misdeeds again, Jane nodded.

"Now that that's all out in the open, I want you _all_ to put this where it belongs. In the past. We all miss Mayfair. We always will. And we will all feel guilty in our own way, whether that guilt is misplaced or not. But this is serious. Sandstorm is planning a complete reset, and we don't know what that means yet. Jane is our best shot at finding out, and she's putting herself at considerable risk. I'm not saying you have to like her or completely trust her. You just have to work together without bickering like goddamn children. You have concerns about Jane's loyalty to the FBI? You bring it to me or Nas and we'll assess how valid it is. Anything else? You put it aside and get on with your jobs."

There was silence in the locker room as they all processed his words. It was difficult not to take offense at Weller's insinuation that her loyalty might be in question after she'd been totally honest with them, but Jane breathed deeply to manage her wounded pride. _They have reasons not to trust you. Deal with it._

"If I have to break up another unprofessional argument between members of this team in the next six months, I'm going to start reassigning people. I hope I've made myself clear."

Weller turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the four of them to suffer the deeply uncomfortable aftermath of his reprimand.

Jane went back to her locker, grabbed her jacket and made her escape as quickly as possible. None of the others said a word as she left.

Would anything actually change? Even a small drop in Zapata's hostility would be welcome. Jane wasn't naïve enough to think any of them would forgive her anytime soon, but a civil working atmosphere would be nice.

She looked for Weller on her way out of the building, wondering if she should thank him for stepping in, but he was nowhere in sight.

* * *

_I'm done with you. We're through._

It had taken Weller a good two hours of drinking alone to get to the point where having the box of his father's possessions in the apartment was worse than the idea of picking it up and throwing it out. Already pissed off with his team, he'd looked through the pictures Jane had given him of his childhood, tearing up the ones with Bill Weller in them and cultivating his anger at Taylor's unjust demise.

None of it would have happened if it weren't for his father. Taylor wouldn't be dead. His mother wouldn't have left. Sarah wouldn't be dealing with the hurt of his betrayal twenty-five years after it had happened. And Remi would never have wiped her memory and had her brother drop her off in Times Square in a bag, Weller's name on her back, a honeytrap to ensnare him, and to bring her close enough to Mayfair to strike.

If Bill Weller hadn't killed Taylor Shaw, Mayfair would still be alive. His father was responsible for the deaths of two of the most important people in Kurt's life. One directly, the other indirectly.

He picked up the box, staring at the smiling face of his father in the framed photo on top of it. It shouldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, but it seemed far heavier, as if it contained the sum of his pain, guilt and fears about his relationship with his father, as well as just a few possessions.

And it seemed as though he'd been carrying it around for twenty-five years.

_No more._

He threw open the door of his apartment, travelled the short distance down the hallway, placed the box on the edge of the garbage chute…and paused for just a second.

Bill smiled up at him from behind the glass of the frame.

_Fuck you, Dad._

He shoved the box, and it toppled out of his reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone, how am I doing? I'm at kind of a crossroads when it comes to this fic, and I'm not a hundred percent sure where I'm going. Is Allie pregnant or not pregnant? How long is Jane going to stay pissed at Weller (which kind of ties in to the question about Allie)? What does she plan to have tattooed on her back instead of Weller's name? And how long until I can make Jeller have sex? :D Don't worry, I also haven't forgotten about Rich Dotcom.
> 
> All I do know is that I'm not taking this fic all the way through season two. Probably not even to the point where Roman gets ZIPped. We're at chapter thirty already, and I think it's time to start working gradually towards some kind of resolution, but as I'm still not sure quite how I'll be tapering off, I'm happy to hear thoughts and suggestions (no guarantees that what you say is what I'll be writing, but then again, maybe it will!).
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, guys!


	31. Failed Missions and Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jane narrowly avoids blowing her cover with Sandstorm, she walks straight into a triggering situation with Weller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to go with not making Allie pregnant. I love Allie, but I think maybe this isn't the fic for her. As for the Jeller sex... Wellll... :D

Three weeks into Jane's reinstatement at the NYO, disaster struck. After not showing up to work or calling in sick, she finally made an appearance well into the afternoon, looking pale and grim.

Weller crossed SIOC to meet her as she left the elevator, trying to keep his relief from showing and substituting anger in for it instead. "Jane, where've you been?" Noticing the way she stiffened, he softened his tone. "Are you okay?"

She looked past him to Nas, then up into his face. "We need to talk, in the annex. Now."

Weller beckoned to Nas, and together they headed away from SIOC and deeper into the NYO's back hallways. On the way, he filled Jane in on the bombings they'd been working, though she only seemed to be taking in a fraction of the information he gave her.

When they reached the secure area allocated to Zero Division and the door slid shut behind them, neither of them had to prompt Jane. She let loose with every detail about Shepherd's order for her to kill Jeffrey Kantor, about Roman's story about Remi snapping her pet rabbit's neck. She continued with her attempts to talk Kantor out of the panic room, to convince Roman to spare his life and give him another chance to help Sandstorm. When she got to the part where Roman told her the truth about the mission, Weller realised her anxiety was well-founded.

"It was a loyalty test, and I failed. I'm burnt."

Nas radiated frustration. "You should have taken that shot. Roman's right; this is a war. Sandstorm's stated goal is to burn this country down to the ground, and you might be our only hope at stopping them."

Jane wasn't too calm, either. "He was asking me to kill a completely innocent man!"

"One man!" Nas yelled back. "Whose life you valued over the thousands Sandstorm could eventually take out!"

"She's not a killer," Weller interjected.

"Yes, she _is_ a killer! That's why they want her, and that's why we sent her there." Nas rounded on Jane. "You do whatever you have to do to maintain your cover."

As Patterson came in with details about the next bomb scheduled to go off somewhere in the city, Jane retreated, first mentally, then physically leaving the room. Weller watched her go, trying to pay attention to the current crisis, wishing things would just slow down enough that he could follow her. She badly needed his support right now; he sensed it on a gut level. But he didn't have time. They had to get to the next bomb location within twenty minutes, or more people would die.

"Take Jane with you," Nas said as he stepped towards the door.

"Her head's not on straight. I need her to stay here for this one. Debrief her about her time with Sandstorm."

"She can't just sit one out! Things have to appear business-as-usual!" Nas wasn't backing down, but Weller had had it.

"Nas, these are high-stress situations, and Jane is not fit to be out in the field right now. Debrief her if you have to, or leave her alone to process. Either way, she's staying here." Without waiting for a reply, Weller turned and left.

* * *

He had to compartmentalise, shoving the Sandstorm situation to the back of his mind until both of the bombers had been caught, but after the case, Jane caught up with him in the locker room. Her expression was a combination of angry and lost.

"Nas is telling me to be a killer. You say I'm not a killer. I'm getting pulled in opposite directions and I don't how to handle this."

"You're right. You're being put in an impossible position, Jane. So what do you need?"

She looked taken aback, like she hadn't expected him to agree with her complaint. "I don't… I don't know."

Her pager buzzed, and he caught a glimpse of the '911' on the display before she pocketed it again. "It's Roman. He's calling me back to Sandstorm."

Kurt's heart sank. With the way her last encounter with Roman had ended, there was a very real danger that she wouldn't survive this one. "Did he say why?"

"No. But if he spoke to Shepherd, I'm blown. I could be walking into my own execution."

_No. I can't just stand by and let this happen._

"You don't have to do this."

"What are my choices? I either go back to Sandstorm, or I go back to the CIA." Her eyes were sad, resigned. She was giving up, letting circumstances decide her fate. That wasn't the Jane he knew. What Nas had said about her being a killer must really have struck her hard.

"I can talk to Pellington."

"No. I… I'm still the best shot we have at stopping all of this." Her voice broke. "I never realised how easy it was being Taylor Shaw. This is so much worse."

She was trying to push him away by mentioning Taylor. To make it easier on both of them for her to walk away, maybe to her death.

"You're not Taylor Shaw, but you're not a killer, either. I don't care what Roman and Nas have to say." He stepped in closer and touched her upper arms gently, holding her gaze. "You know who you are. You know what you're capable of. Trust your own instincts."

 _And come back to me, Jane. Don't you dare die out there tonight._ He didn't say it, couldn't bring himself to speak the words. But if she could read in his face at least a fraction of the maelstrom of conflicted concern and love he felt for her, it would give her something to believe in. Something to fight for.

She nodded and stepped back out of his reach. "I'll let you know as soon as I can that I'm safe. Assuming I can, that is."

"I'll be waiting."

With the faintest trace of a smile, she turned towards the door. It took every shred of self-control he possessed to remain still and silent while she walked away.

* * *

When Jane returned to her safehouse, stunned to still be alive, she barely noticed the agents on her protective detail weren't in their usual positions. She was too busy trying to work out what her next move would be; how to balance her actions with Sandstorm so that she didn't turn into the killer Shepherd and Nas thought she was, but didn't put Weller and the team at risk either.

_I can't save you a second time. So if you can't wake up the real Remi on your own, I'm gonna find your rabbit, and I'm gonna make him bleed._

Roman knew Weller was her weak point. How was she going to save him without compromising what she—Jane—believed in?

She let herself into her apartment to find Weller sitting on her couch, and though he'd turned on a lamp and wasn't sitting in the darkened kitchen, she immediately flashed back to the night he'd arrested her.

_It's over. Whatever this is, whatever it was about, it's finished. Jane Doe, you're under arrest._

Jane froze in the doorway, her heart pounding. Unable to move or speak or do anything but stare at him.

"Hey." He was concerned, serious, his gaze searching her face as he rose from the couch. "It's just me. How'd it go?"

"I…" She somehow took a step closer, trying to talk herself down from the fight-or-flight response taking over her body. "I'm alive, I guess. I sent you a text message on the way home to let you know I was safe. W-what are you doing here?"

"I was already here. Figured I'd wait and check you were okay."

"I'm not okay." The words left her in a rush, a babbled admission. "I'm not okay, Weller. The last time I came back from a meeting with someone at Sandstorm to find you in my apartment, you handcuffed me."

He exhaled hard, and she caught a glimpse of realisation and self-recrimination in his eyes. "That's why you look so scared. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

She wanted to laugh, and cry. At herself. At the situation. At her ridiculous, illogical response. And what was he even doing here, anyway?

"Come and sit down."

Jane shook her head. "I'm too tense. I'll stand."

"Okay." He watched her carefully. "Jane, I can't help fix this if you won't open up. Tell me what's on your mind."

A laugh escaped her lips. Fragile, bitter and humourless. "You won't understand. You can't."

"I understand that part of your trauma is having me here, in this room with you. What I don't get is why it affects you so much. You've been through so much, but from what I can tell, that night—right here—that's as traumatic to you as anything Keaton did. I want to help set that right, if I can."

A tear slid down Jane's cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently. Frustrated with herself. Frustrated with him.

"I want to understand."

"Why are you here, Weller?" She tried deflecting, desperate to avoid this conversation. "I'm not her. I'm not Taylor. And this is above and beyond the call of duty, waiting at my apartment to see if I'm okay. I betrayed your trust and you're still here, even though you can't forgive me. Why?"

"What does Taylor have to do with this? I don't—"

"Oh, God, you really have no idea, do you?" All the pent-up stress and fear of the past eighteen hours tumbled out of her in a rush. "You have no idea how much you killed me that night. How your words keep replaying over and over in my mind. How I see your face in my dreams and you look at me just like you did when you were drinking in my kitchen. I wasn't Taylor, so I was nothing to you."

It gave her a rush of sick satisfaction to see her words hit home. His shock and dismay were plain. She resented him for his cluelessness in that moment, no matter how unfair that was.

"Jane," he started, but she held up a hand.

"I hear you insinuating that I didn't want to be called Taylor because I knew I wasn't her, and I want to claw my brains right out of my skull. When you thought I was her, you said so many beautiful things to me. Words I cherished. Even earlier that day, the voicemail you sent me made me feel…"

She had to stop, her voice failing her for a second, her emotions too raw. Kurt didn't move or speak as she composed herself.

"But then you found her body, and I was dead to you. It sounded like you thought I was glad your dad was dead, because that meant my secret was safe. You treated me like a criminal. Like a monster. You threw me away without listening to anything I had to say. And that is so much worse than anything Keaton did to me, Weller. He broke my body, but you broke my spirit."

She couldn't tell how he reacted to her words. Her eyes were too blurry with tears.

"I never meant to…" His quiet words trailed off. "I don't even remember saying half of those things, Jane."

Incredulous and angry, she stepped in closer, needing to see him clearly. "You don't remember? You tore my world apart and you don't even remember?"

A flash of shame crossed his face. "I know it doesn't help to hear that I was drunk and grieving, but I was out of my mind that night. All I can do is apologise."

She turned away, shaking with heartbroken anger. Needing an outlet for the tumult of emotions cascading through her, but finding nothing to channel it into.

"I didn't just care about you because I thought you were Taylor. I know the way I acted that night makes it hard for you to believe that, but—"

She wanted out of this conversation so very badly. Somehow, she had to drive him away. He wanted her honesty? Then he'd get her honesty. "You broke my heart, Weller."

"And you broke mine." The sharp edge to his voice made her stomach lurch, stoking her anxiety, but part of her rejoiced to hear him start to lose his temper. If he didn't get mad, it was too easy to feel like she was the bad guy. She needed his reciprocal anger.

"That's not what it felt like from my perspective. You were ice cold that night."

"Okay, let's clear the air here. I was falling for you, and you stabbed me in the back. Your intentions might have been good, but that's what you did."

"You wanted Taylor, not me. You made that totally clear."

"I wanted _you._ " He caught her wrist as she tried to move past him, forcing her attention to his face. "Taylor was important to me, and thinking you were her might have gotten you closer to me than the average suspect, but it was you I wanted. The way you acted, the way you looked. You were the one who made me feel for you."

"Then why did that completely disappear the moment you found out I wasn't Taylor? If it was me you wanted all along, then how could you shut down like that?"

They were moving towards something; she sensed it intensifying between them, a pressure that couldn't sustain itself. Something had to give, and soon.

"It was the only way I could cope with what you did. With what _I_ did. Okay? Are you happy now? I couldn't bear the guilt that night. I needed someone to blame, and you were the only target I had. The feelings I had for you didn't go away. I just locked them down so I didn't lose my mind."

Face to face, they stared at each other, stripped bare of artifice, facing down the reality of everything that had happened between them. Their anger hadn't gone away; it was still simmering below the surface, but they were no longer using it to shield other emotions.

It was too intense. She had nowhere to hide, and she wanted him so goddamn badly, the insistent beat of her pulse between her thighs putting her on edge. She was restless, needy, and she couldn't even begin to process the honesty of this moment.

Acting on pure instinct, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a brutal kiss.


	32. Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'And then they had angry sex.' (This chapter is totally skippable for those who don't enjoy smut.)

They shouldn't be doing this. Jane was too traumatised right now. He'd be taking advantage of her distress and they'd almost certainly regret this later.

None of that mattered as Kurt slid his hands into her hair and returned her kiss, matching her fervour with his own. She smelled of woodsmoke and traces of alcohol, with her own unique scent underlying it all. Her fingernails dug into his shirt as she attacked his lips with hers, and he realised she was shaking.

He tried to ease her down, de-escalate their embrace the way he'd tried to talk down the bomber earlier that day. Stroking the palm of his hand over the bird tattoo on her neck, he pulled back enough that they could breathe. "Jane…"

"No." She shook her head, her expression conveying total stubbornness. "I don't want slow. I need to fuck you. Hard. Fast. Dirty."

Had he ever heard her curse before? Not only that, but she was taking ownership of what she wanted. _I need to fuck you_ instead of _I need you to fuck me_. She wanted that control, and his cock pulsed with arousal at the idea of letting her take it.

Kurt pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard. "You sure? Your injuries—"

Jane closed her eyes. Whether she was overcome by emotion or just avoiding his gaze, he wasn't sure. "We do this my way, or not at all."

He should have stepped back, told her goodnight. But she'd already been damaged enough by his actions in this room. To reject her now, even if it was only because he didn't want to strain her healing body…he sensed it might break her spirit even more.

And damn it, he needed her. He'd spent the past couple of hours waiting, laden down by dread that he'd sent her off to her death, knowing he was powerless to help without blowing her cover. Now she was safely back with him, he was impatient to lose himself in her, to feel her heartbeat as he moved within her.

"You want it your way? Better be sure you can handle it, because I half convinced myself you were dead tonight, and I have some serious tension to work off."

Jane looked startled at his words, as if she hadn't even thought he'd be worried. "I—"

"What? You didn't think I cared? Or you didn't think you were worth it?" He gathered a fistful of her hair in his hand and tugged just hard enough to emphasise his point. "I have been out of my mind worrying about you tonight. So stop me if I go too far."

He kissed her roughly, rewarded by her husky moan. She wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking friction against her clit and finally standing on tiptoe to press forward against his cock. "Take me to bed."

Kurt slid his hands up under her shirt, exploring the smooth, warm skin of her back before tugging the fabric up and over her head. "No. Being in this room with me hurts you so much? We change that. Make a new memory, here and now. And if that doesn't work, we make another. And another. Until you understand—" He bit down on the rest of what he wanted to say, knowing now wasn't the time for it.

Jane faltered, her eyes softening for a moment at his words, but recovered quickly, the heat and fury returning as she reached for his belt. "Now. Right now."

Kurt carried her over to the breakfast bar and sat her on one of the stools. While she dug her fingers into his hair, he pulled down her sports bra to take one of her nipples in his mouth, bending low so that he could pull off her boots and socks at the same time. Jane arched her back, pushing her breast harder against his lips, and he bit down gently, startling a cry from her before soothing her nipple with his tongue.

Impatient, she pulled him up to meet her lips again, cupping his hard cock through his pants with one hand while undoing the rest of his shirt buttons with the other. Kurt shrugged out of the garment and reached for her again, trailing nips and kisses over her neck. Jane unzipped his pants and pushed them down over his hips, and he kicked them free with his shoes and socks.

His boxer-briefs were uncomfortably tight as she stroked his cock through the material. He needed to feel her hand on his flesh more than he needed his next breath, but she wriggled out of her sports bra first, giving only the slightest hint of discomfort at the way she had to contort her body to get free of it.

Weller longed to explore every tattoo from the bird on her neck downwards, spending time on each one, kissing and stroking, but she'd already made it clear that wasn't what she wanted. Instead, he pulled her off the stool by the hem of her pants, undoing the button at her waist and jerking down the zipper. Jane helped him, pushing down her cargo pants and stepping out of them, and in a lustful daze, he realised she'd taken her underwear off with them.

Needing to know how much she wanted this, he slid his hand between her thighs and groaned at the slick wetness there. She was so ready that he could push into her right now. Jane bucked against his hand, nipping the sensitive skin connecting his neck and shoulder, scratching down his back with her fingernails.

"Jane," he growled against her ear, gratified at the way her skin rippled into goosebumps beneath his touch. "Wait."

She gave a wordless murmur of complaint as he withdrew his hand, her neediness making him smile. While he reached across the breakfast bar to where he'd left his wallet and keys, she quickly worked his underwear down over his thighs until he was as naked as she was. Kurt tore open the condom packet with urgent fingers, swallowing a moan of appreciation as Jane rested her forehead on his shoulder and closed her fingers around his cock. She stroked up towards the tip experimentally, then more firmly, teasing the spot just underneath the head as he pressed into her touch.

He interrupted her to roll on the condom, capturing her lips again in a rough, demanding kiss. Then he lifted her off the ground, carried her back across the room to the couch, and dropped down onto it with her straddling his lap.

She lifted up immediately, guided him to her entrance and sank down almost all the way in one smooth motion, making his head fall back against the cushions in pleasure. With small, sensual bucks of her hips, she took him the rest of the way, clutching his shoulders for support.

He slid his hand between her thighs to where they were joined, seeking her clit as she kissed him again. She gasped into his mouth, her body rippling around his cock, and began to rise and fall in his lap with fast, controlled movements. Not drawing things out, but seeking the finish line, her eyes closed tightly and a frown creasing her forehead as she used his cock for her pleasure.

Breathing hard, the slick friction increasing his own desire, he took hold of her hips and helped her to move, bucking up to drive harder inside her, guiding her as she bounced in his lap. The closer she got to her orgasm, the more frenzied her motions became, and the harder she dug her nails into his shoulders.

The small points of pain across his skin stoked his frustration. She was hiding from him, disconnecting from their argument, from their feelings for each other, and he couldn't stand it. "This what you wanted?" he asked, changing the angle of his thrusts upwards and shocking a cry from her throat. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me, and remember that every time you put your life at risk, I go out of my mind. Remember that I searched for you for three goddamn months, that when I found out you wiped your own memory, I didn't stop looking. I didn't stop, Jane."

She opened her eyes, finally connected with him, and his breath caught at the sight of her sadness and anger and unbridled desire. Leaning down for one brief, yet violent kiss, she ordered, "Stop _talking."_

"Make me."

He should have thought it through before he let his mouth run away with him. Determination flashed through her eyes in response to his challenge, and before he could stop her, she got off his lap and sat on the arm of the couch, her legs spread.

Even before she could reach out to grab his head and direct him to where she wanted him, Kurt was moving in the same direction. He pressed a kiss to her clit, then took out his frustration on her by changing pace, tasting her in a long, slow lick.

"Weller," Jane warned breathlessly, tightening her grip on his head. "Give me what I want, or you don't get what _you_ want."

 _You're assuming I don't want this._ He had to content himself with thinking it, too intent on using his tongue for a different purpose. She wasn't in the mood for teasing, already close to orgasm from the way she'd been riding his cock, but he promised himself that next time she had him here, he'd spend forever learning everything that made her gasp and moan and press herself against his mouth.

For now, he stuck with the only thing she wanted. Wrapping one arm around the small of her back to draw her in tighter, he let her grind against his tongue while he eased a finger just barely inside her, then a second. Her sweet spot was easier to find than he'd hoped. He stroked her with his fingertips from within, and his tongue from without, following her unspoken cues to send her higher and higher. Barely a minute had passed when her thighs shook and she half-gasped, "Yes!", almost overbalancing from her precarious position.

Weller took advantage of her distraction to pull her back into the safer location of his lap, where she wasn't at risk of falling and giving herself a concussion. He cursed under his breath as she teased his cock, sliding it up and down her folds instead of letting him right back inside.

He caught her gaze and gave her a new challenge. "Thought you wanted to fuck me?"

Was it his imagination, or did he see the barest hint of a smile on her face just before she sank back down onto him?

Even though he'd just made her come, her appetite was undiminished. She rode him with seductive urgency, unashamed of seeking a second climax, chasing her own pleasure and trusting that he could hold out a little longer. Kurt lost himself in the hedonism of watching her move, unable to believe she was actually here with him. When she reached down to touch herself in the final, tense seconds before ecstasy overtook her, he almost lost control and had to close his eyes to block out the sight.

She clenched in waves around his cock, a sharp, relieved cry tearing from her throat, and he groaned in response, nuzzling her neck as she rode it out. Then, unable to ignore his body's desperation for release any longer, he rolled them over so she was laid out on the couch. Jane raked her nails down his back and over his ass, spurring him without words to take back control. He pounded into her in a harsh, primal rhythm until white-hot pleasure took over.

Jane held onto him tightly as his insistent thrusts became shuddering jerks of pleasure, her breath shaky on his neck as he slowed. He rolled them back over to avoid crushing her, somehow finding the strength to position them comfortably on the couch before collapsing back into a boneless heap.

Neither of them said a word, reality creeping back in around them as they calmed. Kurt ran his fingers gently up and down her spine, then lingered at the spot where his name was inked between her shoulder blades. Jane panted against his shoulder, one hand splayed over his heart, the other curled around the firm muscle of his upper arm.

After a minute more of silence, she tensed, and he knew he was about to lose her. Sure enough, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and slowly drew away, a tiny noise escaping her lips as his cock slipped free of her. She didn't look at him as she unsteadily stood up and turned away.

"Goodnight, Weller," she said softly.

"Jane—" He bit down on his request for her to come back to him, knowing she needed space. Though he longed to hold her through the night, he'd had no illusions when they'd started that the encounter would end any other way than this.

She headed into her bedroom—despite himself, he couldn't help but be satisfied at the way her legs trembled in the aftermath of their passion—and closed the door behind her, gently but firmly.

All he could do was lie there for a few more moments, gathering his strength and wondering if she'd ever look him in the eye again. When his thoughts became too dark for him to face, he dealt with the condom and got dressed, distracting himself from his fears. Then, ignoring the almost physical ache in his chest, he left her apartment.


	33. Morning After Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane tries to process her night with Kurt, but runs into more misunderstandings.

Jane woke to the birds chirruping outside her window, five minutes before her alarm clock was due to go off. For the first time since she'd gotten out of the black site, she'd awoken not in terror, but with a natural sleepiness.

Frowning, she stretched out her aching limbs, then froze as she remembered why she felt like she'd just completed a military assault course.

_Weller._

Heat and mortification flooded through her as she remembered everything. The way his eyes had fallen closed as she'd taken hold of his cock for the first time, his Adam's apple shifting beneath the skin as he'd swallowed. The feel of his fingers digging into her hips as he'd guided her up and down on his lap. The growl in his voice as he'd urged her, _fuck me harder_.

The way she'd pulled his head between her legs, and his complete willingness to stay there until she came. Not that she'd been hard to push over the edge.

_Oh, god._

How was she going to look him in the eye today? Never mind that he'd seen her naked body in its entirety in Patterson's scans of her tattoos—now he knew what she sounded like, smelled like, tasted like, felt like. And she knew the same of him.

He'd speak her name and she'd remember how he'd said it when he'd slipped his hand between her legs. He'd watch her at her most composed and know how she looked in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm. An orgasm that he'd given her.

God, she hoped he wasn't the kind of guy who became insufferably cocky once he'd gotten laid. Not that he seemed the type, but who knew how things would change between them now?

She groaned and burrowed under the covers, trying to hide from her actions the night before. It didn't help, because she hadn't showered before she'd gotten into bed, and she still smelled like Weller, bringing back more provocative memories of everything they'd done.

Sex with Oscar had been great. How could it not have been, with his intimate knowledge of all her idiosyncratic turn-ons and the way her body responded to certain stimuli? He'd known things about her that she hadn't known from her own self-pleasure sessions. But there had been no uncertainty in it for him. No discovery. She had been Jane, but her body's responses were no different than Remi's. To him, she _had_ been Remi.

But sex with Kurt…she didn't know what to think. Not that it had been bad. On a physical level, it had been explosively satisfying, filling a craving she'd felt since the first week she'd met him. Though now that she knew what he felt like against her, inside her, that craving would only grow.

Last night had been so heartbreaking, so filled with emotions she could barely begin to deal with. Sex with Oscar had never been like that. It had been a diversion. But the way Weller had looked at her, spoken to her…the way they'd argued before she'd kissed him…

He didn't remember the awful things he'd said to her the night he'd arrested her. That made her want to scream and throw things, even in light of what else he'd told her last night.

_You broke my heart, Weller._

_And you broke mine._

_I was falling for you, and you stabbed me in the back._

_You were the one who made me feel for you._

_Fuck me, and remember that every time you put your life at risk, I go out of my mind._

She didn't know how to deal with sex like that. So open, so emotional, so confrontational. Up until she'd distracted him by making him go down on her, putting his mouth to a different use, he'd been determined to make her face the screwed-up nature of their relationship. She hadn't even known people did that during sex. She'd needed release, escape from their argument, and he'd pursued it even while he was inside her.

Weren't men supposed to be incapable of multi-tasking?

She couldn't deal with this. No matter how fantastic the orgasms had been, he'd fucked with her mind as well as her body. There was no way she could let him do that again.

Her alarm went off, and she slapped at it irritably, as annoyed with her own life choices as with the piercing noise. Ignoring the hum of desire that remembering the past night had left her with, she got out of bed and stretched a little, testing her healing gunshot wound and post-surgical shoulder in particular.

The bruises, lacerations and burns Keaton had inflicted on her had just about healed—it had now been over a month since her escape from the black site—but those two injuries still troubled her. Her physical therapist had given her exercises for her arm, which she'd been doing religiously since she'd first had permission to start, but progress was frustratingly slow.

Her lower half was halfway back to decent shape, though. She hadn't allowed herself back into the FBI's training facilities yet—since the punching bag would be staring her in the face and she'd have to resist the temptation to let loose on it—but she'd been going jogging for a couple of weeks now, despite her slight embarrassment at how short a distance she was able to manage compared to before her capture. It wouldn't have bothered her if she'd been alone, but her protective detail had been tailing her every time she went out.

_How the mighty have fallen, huh, guys?_

When she stepped out of her safehouse in her jogging gear today, her detail was nowhere to be seen. Dimly, she remembered they hadn't been there when she'd gotten back from Sandstorm's wake for Oscar—she assumed because Weller had been there and had sent them home. Maybe he'd decided she didn't need a detail anymore Or maybe he'd been so pissed off by the way she'd left him after they'd had sex, he'd not bothered to reinstate them.

She hoped he didn't make a scene at work. Not that he'd let it interfere with a case, but he hadn't been above talking about personal issues in the locker room or his office before.

Jane set off at a steady jog, ignoring the slight pain in her arm as she swung it and the occasional wrench of her side wound when her left foot hit the ground. She only managed ten minutes before instinct told her she was pushing it, and she turned back the way she'd come.

_Not like you didn't get a good workout last night,_ she reminded herself.

That only made her start obsessing again over what Weller's reaction was going to be. She spent the last ten minutes of her jog with a scowl on her face, which only deepened when a passing dog-walker told her she should smile, because 'it might never happen'.

_It already happened, you asshole,_ she thought, rounding the corner onto her street. _I was tortured by a government organisation for three months and now I have PTSD. Oh, and before that I was a terrorist who wiped my own memory so I could infiltrate the FBI, lie to everyone there and get close enough to the deputy director to frame her for a murder I watched my ex-fiancé commit, right before he killed her too, and I killed him. Don't tell me to smile!_

She let herself back into her safehouse and braced herself for an invasive memory of the night Weller had arrested her. Instead, she heard his voice from the night before.

_Being in this room with me hurts you so much? We change that. Make a new memory, here and now. And if that doesn't work, we make another. And another. Until you understand._

Jane kicked off her sneakers and made a beeline for the shower. _Understand what, Weller? That you don't remember the terrible things you said? You still said them. You had to mean them, on some level. And I still have to deal with those memories._

She stepped under the spray and began to wash away the exertion of her jog, and of her night with Weller. It wasn't until halfway through her shower that she realised that her sleep—once she'd actually managed to fall asleep, that was—had been undisturbed by nightmares.

Maybe sex with Weller had been good for her mental state, after all.

* * *

"Weller?"

"Huh?" Kurt brought his focus back to the present, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

Nas folded her arms and frowned at him. "I said, we need to discuss how to prevent this from becoming a risk further down the line."

Pushing thoughts of Jane's husky moans out of his head, he tried to cool off his thoughts by focusing on his irritation. "No. If your solution is telling Jane that she needs to kill everyone they tell her to kill, we don't need to discuss it. It won't help. If you want her to stay loyal to our side, pushing her over to the way they do things isn't the way."

"So you think I'm at risk of turning?"

When he looked around, Jane was standing just inside the door to Zero Division's annex, as though she'd been walking in as he'd been speaking and had come up short at his words. Her expression was stony, her shoulders high with tension.

"No one said that," Nas said, her tone conciliatory. "We're just…"

"I'm going to get coffee." Jane retreated the way she'd come, not looking at either of them.

Nas sighed and sat down opposite Kurt. "She's in a good mood today," she murmured with mild sarcasm.

"Can you blame her? She's on a knife edge all the time, and we haven't exactly been the most supportive handlers over the past couple of days." Weller sighed. "I'll talk to her. But you need to understand something, Nas. When her memory got wiped, Remi ceased to exist. You heard about the story Roman told about her pet rabbit. Jane doesn't have that kind of cruelty in her."

"Was it cruelty? Or did she instinctively understand, even as a child, that the rabbit would suffer more if she didn't follow the caregiver's instructions? The way Roman's rabbit did?" Nas leaned forward. "She formed a bond with that rabbit, and she wanted to spare it unnecessary suffering. She killed it out of compassion and out of practicality, but I'm sure she felt terrible about it. Jane possesses both of those qualities, and so did Alice. I'm not sure we can draw a line between Alice and Remi in the same concrete way we can for Jane and Remi."

"What's your point?" Weller asked.

"Jane has done things that hurt this team because she thought that in the long run, it would help them. That's not so different from the rabbit situation, is it? Did Remi cease to exist? Maybe consciously. But Jane still has many of Remi's personality traits, and we can't just apply moral standards as though they're inflexible. We have to think about the big picture. If Jane doesn't snap the necks of a few rabbits now, they and all the rabbits within a ten-mile radius might die in excruciating pain later."

"Remi would kill the rabbits. Jane would rather find a different way to keep them from a painful death. That's the difference between them. If I'd treated Jane like a killer, like a suspect, when she'd come out of that bag, what's to say she wouldn't have turned out more like Remi? And if we tell her to act more like Remi while she's undercover, that could damage her trust in us and the values we're supposed to be upholding. That trust is shaky to start with because of what the CIA did to her. We need to tread carefully if we want her to keep viewing us as the good guys."

Nas took a long, slow breath, thinking. "You have a point. My only concern is that while we keep the moral high ground, Jane gets exposed and killed, and we're no closer to learning Sandstorm's plans."

Kurt shook his head, standing up. "She has to be able to follow her instincts, Nas. Or we'll lose her. Her family obviously loved Remi. Jane has never had that family connection before. Did you see the way she looked when she said Shepherd and Roman hugged her?"

"And because they love her, they'll be slower to kill her. As we've seen by Roman covering for her in this instance." Nas pulled earbuds out of her pocket and motioned towards the door. "You should go talk to her. I'll see what else I can think up."

Kurt found Jane in the break area closest to Zero Division, staring into a cup of coffee as though it had mortally offended her. She stiffened at the sound of his footsteps, but didn't turn to face him.

"I don't think you're at risk of turning, Jane."

"When I hear people talking about me when they don't think I'm in the room, I generally take what they say at face value."

Kurt poured his own cup of coffee and sat down next to her. "Do you really think I would have kissed you back last night if I'd thought you were about to betray us?"

"Yes. Because sex clouds people's minds and then they make bad judgements."

He wondered if she was talking about Oscar or him, but decided he'd rather not know. "I don't regret last night. But that isn't a conversation we should be having here."

Jane sipped her coffee and said nothing, her eyes on the tabletop in front of her.

Kurt changed tack. "With the bombings yesterday, we didn't get a chance to talk about Roman's story about the rabbits."

"What's to say?" She smiled bitterly into her drink. "I was turned into a killer at a very young age. I did terrible things as an adult, too. Now Nas wants me to be that person again, and you want to make sure I don't enjoy it so much I go back to Sandstorm."

"That's not what I said." He sighed. "You think I don't have to handle Nas just as much as I handle anyone else on the team? Just because this is a joint taskforce, that doesn't make us of one mind. She doesn't know you the way I know you. She's not going to believe me when I say that you're not Remi, so I have to lay things out for her in a way she'll understand."

Jane was silent, but he sensed he was getting through to her, and continued, "Nas deals in data. She knows Remi has killed a lot of people, so in her mind, your cover necessitates that you do the same thing. She's used to handling career criminals, terrorists, people who are only doing good because she's found dirt on them and backed them into a corner. She doesn't see that that's not you."

"What if it is me?" Jane asked quietly. "This corner looks pretty inescapable. And you know what I've done when I've been backed into corners before. Now Mayfair is dead."

Last night, just after Jane had gone to meet with Roman, the team had held a small, unofficial wake for Mayfair in the office that had once been hers. They'd shared memories of her and drunk scotch, and at one point or another they'd all shed a tear. Hearing Jane mention Mayfair so soon after that made Kurt flinch. He needed a few days for her memory to settle again.

"This is the other way around. Last time, Oscar had a hold on you and you framed Mayfair, trying to save us. Now Nas has something you need and if members of Sandstorm die, no one's going to hold it against you. It's the collateral damage we have to worry about."

"I don't think Nas cares about collateral damage."

"Nas has her own baggage that she brings to her work. Everyone does. I'm trying to keep her in line. Hopefully she can do the same for me." He reached across the table for Jane's hand. "Do you still think I have so little faith in you?" _After everything I told you last night?_ He bit back the final words.

She allowed him to lace his fingers through hers, watching their joined hands instead of his face. "I know you're on my side. I just don't know if you should be."

Kurt didn't bother to dignify that concern with an answer. As far as he was concerned, if she was second-guessing herself, she wasn't in danger of becoming a threat. Her own conscience would keep her on the right path.

"How's your arm this morning? Your gunshot wound?" He knew work was the wrong place to talk about their night together, but he needed to make sure she wasn't hurt. God knew he hadn't been in any state to worry about her bullet wound when he'd been on top of her last night, with her heels pressing against his ass and her nails leaving red furrows down his back.

Jane pulled her hand away, as if she couldn't touch him and think about the things they'd done at the same time. _At least you don't have to worry about getting a hard-on in front of the team_ , he thought wryly, but kept his mouth shut.

"I went jogging this morning. No problems, though I didn't get as far as I would have liked." She seemed to remember something. "Did you pull my detail?"

He nodded. "When I got there last night. Seemed pretty pointless having agents watching you at home, when the real danger is out there with Roman and Shepherd. That okay?"

Jane snorted. "You know I hate having a protective detail."

"Yeah, but they've been waking you up from your nightmares. You said you preferred to be woken than left to sleep through them." A belated thought occurred to him. "Did you wake yourself up last night?"

"Actually, I didn't dream last night," Jane admitted, still unable to meet his gaze.

Kurt's spirits lifted at that information. He wasn't arrogant enough to think he'd cured her PTSD with sex and a stern talking-to—just genuinely happy she'd had a nightmare-free night. "I'm glad."

Before Jane could reply, both of their phones buzzed—Jane's first, then his. Kurt glanced at the display. "Patterson?"

"She's solved my honeycomb tattoo." Jane held up her hand, the honeycomb pattern on the back of it facing him.

He cocked his head in the direction of the lab. "Let's go see what she's got."

Jane flashed him a small smile as they headed out. It seemed they were at a truce—for now.


	34. Questioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Jane talk on the way to Lake Aurora, and when she returns to the FBI, she questions whether or not her work makes a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed around with the timeline of episode four a little bit for my own purposes - in the show Roman takes Jane to the lake, then Patterson cracks the tattoo, they get Shadowcat, then it's the gala two days later. But I'm stretchng things out and switching them round a little.

“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?”

Roman had been driving upstate for over three hours now, and Jane was beginning to get antsy. He’d been fairly quiet the whole way, letting the radio fill in for conversation, but the farther they drove, the more concerned she became. Sure, it was Saturday and she wasn’t due at the NYO until Monday, but still…

“You know I don’t have a passport, right? You keep driving north, and we’re gonna hit the border.”

“We’re not going that far. We’re nearly there.” Roman turned down the radio, as if finally inviting conversation.

Jane held her questions about Shepherd’s plan at bay for now. They’d have plenty of time to talk on the way home. Instead, she asked, “Can I ask you something? About the past?”

Roman inclined his head. “Shoot.”

“Have I ever had PTSD before?”

She’d only skipped that one night of nightmares; last night they’d come back with a vengeance, and without Weller or a detail to wake her, they’d seemed endless. She’d written them down and picked them apart as Borden had asked her to, but the process was still oddly familiar to her, and she had no idea why.

Roman was silent for a moment, as if assessing what he could safely tell her. Finally, he said, “After Orion was shut down and you came back to the States, your nightmares started. You’d done some recuperating over in Afghanistan, so you were mostly physically healed, but I guess it was a delayed reaction thing. You were screaming in your sleep. The first time I tried to wake you, you almost killed me before you realised it was me. It took you a lot of time and therapy to get past the worst of it.”

He glanced over. “You’re going through similar stuff now?”

Jane attempted a smile, but failed. “Nothing like knowing your country has no respect for your constitutional rights to not be tortured. We are US citizens now, right?”

“Yeah, we went through the naturalisation process as teenagers. Retained our South African citizenship, too, if you ever want to go back there.”

“I don’t think you have any idea how hard it is for Jane Doe to do anything. It wasn’t so bad until the FBI figured out I’m not Taylor Shaw and I couldn’t use her identity anymore. Now I have no passport, no birth certificate, no social security number… It’s ridiculous, all the things I can’t do. I’ve been wrestling paperwork and waiting on hold for so many hours, trying to convince people I exist. The IRS, the bank, health insurance… Ugh.” She finished her tirade with, “Long story short, I won’t be leaving this country anytime soon.”

“Once phase two is over, we can get you false papers. You can go wherever you want.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Venice,” Jane said, then corrected, “I mean, not always. But since I came out of the bag and saw pictures of Venice, I’ve wanted to go there.”

Roman grinned. “Some things don’t change.”

“Have I been?” Jane asked.

“Like six times. No, wait. Seven. You and Oscar took a vacation there just before you got tattooed.”

“More things I don’t remember,” Jane said ruefully.

“It’s coming back, though, right? You remembered Oscar when you saw him. Remembered us as kids. The rest will come back eventually, Remi. I know it.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then, curiously, Jane asked, “How about you? Have you ever had PTSD?”

“I didn’t deal with what happened to us as kids so well. You were the strong one. I fell apart.” Roman didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“You were younger than me, though, right? Of course you dealt with it badly. They murdered your pet, for God’s sake. Made us sleep in that horrible basement. And I don’t even remember anything else.” She watched him with an ache in her chest. He was a terrorist, and he’d murdered untold numbers of people for their cause, but he was also her brother. She didn’t want it to mean something, but it did.

“Better that you don’t remember.”

Roman turned off the highway onto a road that had once been well-maintained, but now was full of potholes and weeds. Sensing that they were nearing the end of their journey, Jane asked one more thing.

“You’re okay now, right? You got over your childhood issues?”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Mostly. The claustrophobia never went away, though.”

He pulled over by the shore of a lake dotted with run-down properties, and shut off the engine. No one seemed to be around.

“Welcome to Lake Aurora,” Roman said.

* * *

_A poisoned lake that tore apart hundreds of families, while the government watched and did nothing, is not ‘visual propaganda’. It’s an outrage._

Kurt found Jane in the FBI’s gym facilities, around thirty minutes after she’d stormed out of his office. It had been a long weekend, but he’d made himself stay away from her, still unsure how things would play out if they spent time together outside of the NYO. He hadn’t wanted to pressure her by dropping by her safehouse, especially now he knew that his presence in her living room triggered her PTSD.

He’d missed her, though. He was starting to come to terms with the fact that although what she’d done to his team had damaged his trust in her, he would always miss her when she wasn’t around.

By this morning, his memories of her naked body against his had been driving him crazy for over three days. Jane seemed to have other things on her mind, though. She’d been incensed by the story behind the lake Roman had taken her to, and had spoken to both Kurt and Nas as if they were monsters for considering her brother’s motives in doing so.

Now she’d had a little time to cool off, he approached the treadmill she was running on and leaned against the wall nearby. “Hey.”

Jane looked at him warily, not slowing her pace on the machine. “Did we catch a case?”

“No. Still in paperwork mode before the museum gala tomorrow.”

She nodded, frowning when the machine began its cooldown cycle, as though she wasn’t ready to slow down.

“Your physical therapist okay with this much activity?”

Jane threw him a careful glance, as though assessing whether he was trying to work his way around to talking about the ‘activity’ they’d engaged in together on Thursday night. _At least it’s on her mind, too._

“As long as I don’t overwork my arm, she says I can do what I want.” She sighed as the machine slowed further, dropping her from a jog to a quick walk. “Maybe another week, maybe two, and I can start real workouts again.”

“You miss it, huh?” It was mainly a rhetorical question. He knew she’d been crawling out of her skin while she’d been healing.

She gave a quick nod. “I need to fight. I need an outlet for…all of this.”

The machine stopped its cycle, and she stepped off the treadmill, only to bend over and touch her toes. Kurt tried not to ogle her firm ass. _If I didn’t know better, I’d say she did that on purpose._

“You do seem pretty stressed today,” he said, alluding to her outburst in his office.

Jane dropped to the floor in a split and leaned down so that her forehead touched her front knee. “I stand by my point.”

Kurt sighed and sat down on the floor next to her. “It’s not that we don’t care, Jane. It’s just… You came out of that bag and everything was new to you. How things are in this country. The corruption and lobbying and how politics works, and... It just doesn’t shock us anymore. We’re desensitised. And we know that what we do doesn’t make any difference.”

Jane lifted her head from her stretch, watching him but saying nothing.

“Law enforcement can only do so much. We can find criminals, try to prosecute them, but when corporate interests with too much money and no morals step in, the cases get thrown out. And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.” He shrugged. “We shut our minds off to the horror, because if we tried to think about it on a deeper level, we’d lose all hope. I’m not proud of it, and if I have evidence of corruption, nothing will stop me from making the arrest. But after we catch the bad guys, it’s up to the justice system to prosecute. And people with more money and influence than I’ll ever have will derail the case.”

“It’s wrong,” Jane said, repositioning herself so that her other leg was in front of her.

“I know. And I hate it. I just have to focus on what I _can_ do. And hope that activist groups can eventually force a change.”

Jane sighed and wriggled out of her stretch, lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. “Are we making a difference? Or are we just…treading water, trying to keep afloat?”

He’d asked himself the same question so many times, especially during his first few years out of Quantico. “In the overall social context, we’re probably not achieving much,” he admitted slowly. “But when you look at it closer—the lives we’ve saved, the crimes we’ve prevented—we’ve made a difference to the lives of a lot of people. And their families.”

She nodded. “I shouldn’t overlook the importance of what we do, right?”

“Sandstorm would probably be happier if you did.”

Though her expression barely changed, something in the atmosphere shifted, cluing him in that his words had hit home. “Yeah. Probably.”

He got up from the floor and offered her his hand. She hesitated, then shook her head, getting to her feet on her own. “Don’t want to strain my arm. Thanks, though.”

She took a step towards the locker room, and he lost the inner battle with himself. “Want to grab a drink after work? Talk some more?”

Jane turned, looking a little taken aback. “Umm… Sorry. I can’t. I have a video chat scheduled with Kalina. She’s not having a great week, so…”

“Okay.” He stepped back, knowing a brush-off when he heard one, but couldn’t quite let it go. “We have to talk about it sometime, Jane.”

“No. I… I don’t think we do.”

Before he could ask what was going on in her head, she disappeared into the gym’s female locker room, where he couldn’t follow.


	35. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before their undercover operation, Kurt has a lapse of control. On the mission, things don't go as planned.

Jane tilted her neck to the side, analysing the spot where her bird tattoo was hidden under a ton of theatrical makeup. The last time she'd gone undercover, she'd hidden her tattoos, and it seemed like a good idea to continue the tradition. The idea was to blend in, and the tattoos were a stellar way to ensure that she stood out.

As she wrestled with the zipper on the back of her dress, she cursed the fashion designer who'd come up with it. Who thought making clothing that someone couldn't put on by themselves was a good idea? Not only that, but she had no pockets. Next time she had to go undercover, she was wearing men's formalwear.

A second later, Weller approached from the back of the locker room. She hadn't realised he was in here.

"Need a hand?" he asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Uh…sure."

He wasn't wearing a tux this time, but he'd chosen a black suit with a white shirt—unusually traditional for him—and a black tie to match. He looked…

_Oh, you might as well admit it. He looks fantastic._

She dropped her gaze as he stepped up behind her, hoping he hadn't seen her appreciative perusal. A moment later, his gentle touch just below her shoulder blades sent goosebumps flowing over her skin.

"Hang on. It's stuck."

Her breath caught as he slipped a finger inside the dress, repositioning the zipper from within. His light touch against the bare flesh of her spine made her shiver. After a slight tug of the fastening, it began to move upwards, but he didn't take his finger out of the dress, sliding his knuckle all the way up to the nape of her neck before releasing the small piece of metal.

"There you go," he said softly. "All set."

"Thank you," she murmured, hoping she wasn't as obviously aroused as she looked. Chancing a glance up into the mirror and accidentally catching sight of his heated gaze, she knew she'd given herself away. "Weller…"

He moved in closer behind her, resting his hands on the counter on either side of her, boxing her in. "You look amazing."

Before she could react, he brushed a light kiss against the nape of her neck. It was barely even tangible, a ghost of a kiss, yet it sent a bolt of sensation all the way down her spine to pool in her pelvic cradle. She lowered her head without even realising it, giving him easier access even as she half-whispered, "You'll rub off the makeup on my tattoo."

He kissed her nape a second time, more firmly, then trailed his lips around to the right side of her neck, avoiding the concealed oil derricks and bird tattoo completely. "No," he said, breathing the words against her ear, "I won't."

Jane shivered as his stubble brushed lightly over her skin, tilting her head to accommodate him. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just behind and below her right ear. _Oh, God, his tongue…_ "Why are you doing this?" she asked, wishing her voice didn't sound so husky.

His next kiss made her eyes flutter shut and her toes curl. The next made her breath tremble and her lips part. She was completely out of her depth, her thoughts hazy, her underwear soaking as her body anticipated what might be coming next.

What was not going to be coming next, because they were about to head out on an undercover mission, and he was the deputy director of the FBI and he could _not_ be caught nuzzling her neck in the locker room like a teenager with no control over his hormones—

He seemed to reach the same conclusion, because he gave her one more slow, clit-tingling kiss on the neck before stepping back. Jane opened her eyes in time to see him adjusting the front of his pants, and that didn't help her composure the slightest bit.

Then, as she stared at him from under eyelids heavy with desire, he gave her a quick, startlingly sexy smile and left the locker room. Jane was left to gaze at her own reflection, stunned by what had just happened.

At least he hadn't rubbed his hard-on against her ass, she thought, as she opened the small black box, containing ear comms, that he'd left next to her on the counter. She didn't think she could have controlled herself if he had.

* * *

Kurt had to spend a few minutes in the men's room, cooling down, after he'd left Jane alone in the locker room. It had started as an impulse when he'd noticed her reacting to his innocent touch, when he'd been fixing the alignment of her zipper. She'd shivered a little, goosebumps rising on her skin, and he'd been unable to help but push his luck, reacting to her obvious arousal despite every professional instinct telling him not to.

When he'd started contemplating slipping his hand under her skirt, he'd pulled himself away with an effort, leaving Jane speechless and half-panting with need. God, what had he been thinking? How was he going to concentrate on this mission now?

Once he'd finally gotten his cock under control, he headed out to SIOC, where most of his people were already congregated. Jane arrived just after him, from the opposite direction, and he avoided looking at her, afraid the whole team would be able to read him like a book.

"Everyone got their comms?" Patterson asked, checking the gadget hidden in her purse. "Aaaand…we're all linked up. I'll switch us on when we get closer to the museum."

"Let's get going," Weller said, and headed for the main elevator.

As they waited for it to arrive, Zapata gently teased Patterson about her makeup, though Weller couldn't quite make out the phrasing.

In response, Patterson laughed. "Say what you will, but look at us. We are a whole bunch of very sexy people. Right, Nas?"

"We're not bad, are we?" Nas agreed, sounding amused.

"Maybe we should go out on the town after the gala," Zapata suggested. "I bet we'd all go home with dates."

"I don't need a date," Patterson said.

"You and Borden are going well, then?" Reade asked.

"Wait, you're dating Borden?" Jane asked, as they all stepped onto the elevator.

"Sssssh!" Patterson told Reade, with a huge smile that belied her words.

"Sorry. I didn't realise that was top secret," Reade said sarcastically.

Weller listened to his team banter with a slight smile. For the first time since Jane's return, they all seemed fairly at ease with each other. Nas caught his eye and smiled, as though she could tell what he was thinking, and he gave her a slight smile in return.

* * *

The gala was filled with people with more money than sense, some of them dressed in outfits that probably cost as much as Kurt's yearly salary. At least they were all there to donate money to a good cause.

He dispatched his team in pair to various floors of the building, keeping Jane with him. After a speech by one of the gala's organisers, he and Jane hit the second floor and split up by unspoken agreement. Jane was on high alert now, the way she always was on a mission. Despite their earlier interaction, there was no awkwardness or subtext between them as they exchanged a glance.

A few minutes later, Jane's voice came over the comms, but she wasn't speaking to anyone on the team. Weller doubled back to find that the guy who'd given the speech before had zeroed in on her. Hitting on Jane, or just hoping to entice her to open her purse for his cause? It was hard to tell.

Instead of extricating herself from the conversation, Jane engaged the man—who'd introduced himself as Oliver Kind—with a question about Lake Aurora. As Kurt prompted her to move on via their comms, he realised that the Clean Water Initiative would be a source of information that could potentially give her a lot of information about the lake and its ecological disaster. Even so, now was not the time or place. They were busy looking for an intruder.

When Kind tried to make Jane laugh, and she looked down at the floor with a distinctly flirty undertone to her body language, Kurt decided he'd had enough of standing by. He stepped up beside Jane and tried to steer her away, avoiding Kind's attempt to get him to introduce himself, but gritted his teeth when Jane lingered with the guy.

"My brother isn't great with people," she told him apologetically.

_Seriously? Her brother? That's what she's going with?_ Kurt checked his glower when he realised he was probably projecting a territorial vibe to the people around them. It wouldn't help them find the person trying to infiltrate the gala if he and Jane were drawing too much attention.

Kind gave Jane his card and suggested they pick up their conversation later.

_He's interested in more than her charity donations. But there's no way she'd be interested in that guy. Right?_

Jane's expression dropped from a friendly smile to annoyance as she reached Kurt's side.

"What was that about?" he asked her.

"Blending in," she said tersely, as if he'd overstepped his bounds.

He was her boss and her lover, and he was well within his rights to… He backed himself down with an effort. "Just focus on this mission."

Soon after, things started to kick into gear, and he had no time to worry about Jane's interest in Oliver Kind. A failed attack on Patterson and two dead bodies later, Jane confirmed she was on the killer's trail. Two floors above him.

Weller headed for the stairs, his heart pounding. This woman was using Shadowcat's game mod to maximum advantage. She could get the drop on Jane with her thorough knowledge of the building's layout.

Various thuds and grunts through the comms signalled that Jane was holding her own, but a crash of glass made his pulse spike. If she'd thrown Jane through a fourth-floor window…

Metallic clanging now. Were the two women having a sword-fight? It sure sounded that way, and if Jane still needed to go easy on her arm, she'd be at a disadvantage. _Hang on, Jane. I'm nearly there._

The sound of an explosion, loud through the comms and more faintly up above, stole Kurt's breath.

_No. Jane…_

He reached the Asian Art wing to find her dazedly pushing herself up from the floor, one hand clutched to her head.

_Alive. Thank God._

"Jane, you okay?"

She didn't look good, her voice slightly slurred as she tried to focus on him. "I'm okay. It was just a flashbang."

Flashbang or not, she clearly needed medical attention. He pulled her to her feet, supporting her lower ribs to avoid wrenching her arm, and she swayed against him, her arms going around his neck for balance.

Supporting her, Weller issued instructions to the rest of his team, but Nas quickly confirmed that their target had made her escape.

Two people were dead, Jane and Patterson had both been attacked, Reade had used excessive force on a museum patron who'd turned out to be innocent, and they were no closer to finding out what the woman had been after—or if she'd gotten it. He cursed under his breath and began to steer Jane towards the elevator. "We need a medic for Jane and Patterson."

"I'm fine," both of the women said in unison, Patterson's voice tinny through the comms, Jane's weak at his side.

"The hell you both are." Weller rolled his eyes.

"Medic dispatching," Zapata said.

"Okay, let's get forensics in here. Witness statements. IDs on the bodies. Security footage. The works." Weller continued issuing commands automatically, the bulk of his attention on Jane. She was looking more clear-headed now, and was able to stand straight, but she had a hell of a bruise developing on one side of her jaw.

Maybe later she'd let him kiss it better.


	36. Won't Happen Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Kurt argue over his behaviour.

The medics saw to Jane and Patterson fairly quickly. Apart from a persistent ringing in her ears that would probably take a couple of days to fade completely, the flashbang hadn’t caused Jane any injuries, though her jaw would be a little sore from the fight and she really wished she could have avoided using her right arm. The tussle with the mystery woman would probably set her recovery back another week, and though Jane had tried not to snarl at the medic who’d given her the news, she’d probably let her irritation show.

The rest of the day was spent going through the victims’ possessions and digital files, trying to figure out if there was any reason those two people in particular had been targeted. There was a lot of information to process, and though they ordered food in to eat while they worked, Weller eventually called for everyone to go home at around ten, so they could look things over with fresh eyes the following morning.

Jane had changed back into her streetwear at the first possible opportunity after getting back to the NYO. The gorgeous dress had been on loan from the FBI’s undercover operations unit, and she’d handed it back to them with relief. When she saw Weller waiting by the SIOC elevator, though, she momentarily wished she was still wearing it.

Then she remembered she was pissed at him for getting all possessive at the gala, and for making a move on her at work in the first place, and frowned over at him. “Were you lying in wait for me?”

“No. I am driving you home, though.” He was still wearing the shirt and the suit pants from his gala outfit, though he’d shrugged out of the jacket, tugged off his tie and popped his top button not too long after they’d gotten back to the NYO. He looked more himself now.

“I’ll take the subway. I’m fine.”

“Jane. That wasn’t an offer, it was a statement. The medics might have cleared you, but I’ve been flashbanged before. I know what it’s like. You’re not taking the subway with your senses impaired.”

She sighed and inclined her head, making sure her expression conveyed her annoyance. “You’re the boss.”

Once the elevator had closed behind them, Kurt sighed. “I won’t ask to come in, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

It was as close to an acknowledgement of what had happened in the locker room as she sensed she was going to get. She waited until they were driving away from the NYO before she asked, “What happened today, Weller?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he said, his eyes on the road.

“What shall we talk about first, then? The way you were all over me in the locker room, fifteen minutes before a mission, or the way you practically dragged me off by the hair when I stopped to talk to someone?”

“That guy was clearly not the person we were looking for. He was making a pass at you, and you engaged him while we were in the middle of a mission. I was getting you back on track, Jane.”

“He knew about Lake Aurora. He had information that was pertinent to one of our cases.”

“Not the one we were working on.” He shook his head. “You’re not an agent, Jane. You haven’t been trained to compartmentalise your caseload. You were getting off-track.”

 _Yeah, right._ Weller had had ‘jealous boyfriend’ stamped all over his reaction to Oliver Kind, and he had no right.

“In that case, I will do better. And _you_ won’t mind if I contact him in my own time, to get further information about Lake Aurora and see if any of it points to why Roman chose there to take me.”

She could sense Weller’s irritation at the turn the conversation had taken, see him scrambling to come up with a reason that she shouldn’t do what she’d said—one that didn’t make him look like a possessive asshole.

“Do what you have to do,” he said tersely.

“Thank you. I will.” She gazed out of the window, perversely disappointed that he’d given up on the argument so fast. Not that she wanted him to get territorial—she just felt like arguing, made edgy by the setback to her healing arm.

She rubbed her shoulder, trying to ease the ache there.

“How’s the arm?”

“I wrenched it. It’s not serious, but it’s a setback.” She scowled out of the passenger window to hold back the tears. Was she _ever_ going to get rid of this reminder of what Keaton had done to her?

“I’m sorry, Jane.” He sounded like he really understood what a blow it was to her morale, which only made her want to cry even more.

“Yeah, well,” she muttered. “Just another day at the office.”

She needed to change the subject before his sympathy made her cry like a child. She’d wept in his arms far too many times already; she was done being a delicate flower.

“So back to the locker room,” she said, calling on her genuine confusion and fear that she was going to ruin his reputation in the office. “What the hell was that? Just because we had sex, that doesn’t mean you can just put your lips on me whenever you feel like it.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he shot back.

 _That’s the understatement of the year._ Just remembering what he’d done got her hot and bothered all over again.

“That’s not the point, Weller. Maybe if you were just another agent, you could get away with doing something like that, but you’re the second-in-command of the NYO! What if someone had walked in on us? You know gossip spreads like wildfire around that place, and I’m a…a terrorist asset who’s integral to a classified op. If your reputation gets ruined because you found my neck too irresistible to leave alone, I don’t want you holding me responsible.”

He drove in silence for a couple of blocks, his jaw taut. Jane was about to press him further when he said abruptly, “It was a momentary loss of control. It was unprofessional; I know that. It won’t happen again.”

 _There we go, then._ _That’s that._

It wasn’t like she’d been holding out hope that they’d sleep together again. She’d been pretty sure it would be a one-time thing. Now that he’d confirmed it, she could get on with her life. Stop obsessing about how it had felt to connect with him on a primal level. How well their bodies had fit together. How she’d almost felt in control of her life again when she’d been riding his cock.

“Good.” She smoothed her hair back from her face, just to give herself something to do.

In her mind’s eye, her evenings stretched out before her, empty and hollow. She didn’t socialise with anyone on the team anymore—their trust in her was too damaged for that. She’d really have to come up with a way to get some new local friends, people with no connection to her job. Once again, she was in the position she’d been back before she’d begun to have girls’ nights out with Patterson and Zapata—lonely and desperate for social interaction.

Maybe Oliver would be a good choice, after all. But would she be putting him in danger if she did reach out to him? Maybe she should just give up on the idea of a social life until they’d brought down Sandstorm.

As for finding new bed partners, there was no way she could even consider it. Waking her date up in the middle of the night with traumatic dreams would be an awkward end to any relationship—or punching whomever she was dating because they’d woken _her_ up.

She was going to be alone for a long time. Jane bowed her head as that depressing truth set in.

As they turned onto her street, she made a decision. If they weren’t going to be doing this anymore, they could at least go out with a bang. Literally.

“You owe me, Weller,” she said, as they arrived outside her safehouse.

He pulled over outside her safehouse. “What are you talking about?”

“You left me hanging at work. You owe me an orgasm.”

The startled look on his face was worth the risk of rejection. Then the expression deepened to include intrigued amusement, and he shut off the car’s engine. “I always settle my debts. With interest.”

Jane got out of the car and headed up the steps of her safehouse without looking back. Her heart was pounding with anticipation and relief that he hadn’t shot her down. She didn’t even have time to get her keys in the door before Weller caught up with her, his hands on her waist and his lips hungry against her neck. Her knees weakened, and she fumbled with the door lock, allowing her melancholy to be washed away by a rising tide of need.

_At least we have tonight. Just tonight._


	37. New Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. Just sex. :D

The lock finally obeyed, and she towed Weller into the apartment by his belt buckle, stepping out of range of his kisses until he shut the door behind them. She released him and walked backwards slowly, making him prowl after her, drinking in the lust in his body language.

"Stop there," she said softly, when he reached the spot where he'd made her kneel to arrest her.

Weller did, awareness sparking in his eyes along with the beginnings of concern. "You okay?"

Jane ignored the words. Stepping in closer, she took his wrists in her hands and guided them behind his back, then murmured, "Stay."

He swallowed hard. "Jane…"

She undid his belt, popped the button at his waistband and slid her fingers down into his pants, taking the zipper down with her other hand. He was already hard, only becoming more so as she closed her fist around his cock.

Weller leaned in, tried to kiss her, but she tilted her head to dissuade him. With a low growl of frustration, he straightened again, hands still behind his back, and watched her face as she stroked him slowly, teasingly.

Knowing he could turn the tables on her at any moment, but was restraining himself for her sake…his respect for her boundaries was erotic on its own. The sense of power she got when she dropped to her knees in front of him and heard his breath catch, though—that was even better.

"New memories, huh?" he said, his voice barely audible.

She didn't want to talk about it. "Take your shirt off."

While he began to obey, never taking his eyes off her, Jane tugged his suit pants down off his hips. They pooled around his ankles, and she tapped his feet one by one, getting him to kick off his shoes and divesting him of all of his clothing except his underwear.

Remembering how he'd teased her in the locker room, Jane nuzzled his hard-on through the fabric, drawing things out, enjoying his frustration. When she finally tugged down his boxer-briefs and kissed her way slowly up the hot, hard length of him, he closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them as if he couldn't bear to shut out the sight.

Jane took the head of his cock into her mouth, teasing with her tongue and watching the way his abdomen shifted as he reacted to the warmth and wetness. His hips pressed forward as he tried to rush her, but she resisted, withdrawing completely. He accepted her control over the situation with a wordless growl that was half-amused, half-despairing.

Once she was sure he'd behave himself, Jane took him further into her mouth, applying suction for the first time and trying not to smile at the way he reached a hand out to the wall for support. Right now, she was in complete control, in stark contrast to the night of her arrest. It was intoxicating to have so much power over someone. And when that someone was Kurt Weller…

She continued to tease, only sucking for a moment before flicking her tongue against the underside of his cock again. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't stand to keep his silence anymore.

"Thought I was supposed to be the one pleasing you?"

Jane just gave a non-committal hum, knowing the vibrations would drive him even further into frustration. Weller groaned, and she took pity on him, taking him as far into her mouth as she could, curling her hand around the base of his cock to make sure he didn't thrust in farther than she was willing to let him go.

"Jane…" His eyes were full of heated intensity.

He took her mouth slowly as she sucked and licked him, the effort of restraining himself plain in every tense muscle of his naked body. She knew it was his fear that she'd stop that made him so considerate, but it was still gratifying to watch him try.

"Fuck, you feel good…"

Jane pressed her thighs together, wriggling slightly to ease her own desire. It didn't work.

She increased the pace and intensity of her movements, watching him through her lashes, waiting for her moment. When his eyes closed and his head fell back, she drew away with one last, teasing kiss. Getting to her feet, she moved backwards, out of reach, and watched him struggle for equilibrium.

"What…?"

He took a step forward. She took one backward. Weller stopped, understanding finally dawning.

"Revenge for earlier?"

"With interest," Jane said, unable to keep the smile from her face. The first time might also be the last time, but working him up had been fun.

He grinned, running a hand through his hair and trying to collect himself a little. "I still owe you."

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm still mad at you."

"You're smiling." He took a step forward, smaller than before. Testing her resistance.

"I like tormenting you." She stepped back, knowing she wasn't putting up much of a fight. "You deserve it."

"For leaving you hanging? Yeah, I guess I do." He took another step.

Jane moved backwards again, surprised when her ass hit the breakfast bar. She'd thought she had another couple of steps before she'd run out of room. "And for acting like a caveman in the museum. In fact, maybe you should just get dressed and go."

Instead of pressing his advantage, Weller stopped. His self-control was seriously impressive. "You don't mean that." He was still fairly relaxed, not believing she was about to throw him out, but his guard was slightly raised now.

"Promise me you won't muscle in when I'm talking to other men again."

"You don't think that guy actually believed I'm your brother, do you?"

Jane took a small step to the side, looking for a way out of her 'predicament'. "I didn't say it for his benefit. I said it to piss you off."

"It worked." He moved sideways too, blocking her off.

"I noticed." She moved the other way, not seriously trying to escape, but enjoying the interplay between them. Even if she was still a little annoyed by his territorial act, and she'd provoked him back into irritation too.

He closed the distance between them, backing her into the corner. Close enough to touch her, yet he didn't. They were both breathing shakily, the chemistry between them off the charts.

"I won't touch you without your permission." His blue eyes were intense, his gaze unwavering.

"Why not? Scared I'll hurt you?" Her bravado was diluted by desire, but she tried it anyway.

He smiled a little. "I can hold my own. Even naked."

If it wasn't for her arm, she'd test that theory. Sparring with Weller always turned her on.

"Then why—"

"I want you to feel safe with me."

Jane closed her eyes. "I'd rather you fucked with my body than my mind, Weller." _Don't do this. Not again. Not when you've already said this is the last time._

Before she could open her eyes to check his reaction, he kissed his way across the bruise on her jaw, his lips light enough that it barely hurt. "Tell me how you want me."

She hesitated, torn between two extremes. Her need to hide won out. "Right here, against the wall."

"That's a start." He tugged at the hem of her shirt. "Take this off. I don't wanna hurt your arm."

Jane carefully shed her shirt. Instead of her usual sports bra, she'd worn a traditional one today, plain black, knowing it would be better with the formal dress. Not that she filled it out in a particularly impressive way, but Weller didn't seem to care. He nipped her neck, nuzzled her collarbone, then kissed his way down to the edge of one bra cup and pulled it away from her skin with his teeth.

Impatient, Jane unsnapped the clasp of the bra, thwarting his attempt to tease her. He laughed softly and pulled it down her arms, then dipped his head to take one of her nipples between his lips. She sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall, and let her fingertips run up and down his cock.

Kurt bit down lightly in response, cupping and squeezing her other breast, pushing his thigh in between hers to give her something to grind against. When he put his lips back to work on her neck, taking advantage of her bared shoulder to make the whole area his, Jane moaned, "More."

It didn't take him long to get her undressed, but before she could wrap her legs around his waist, he sank to his knees in front of her instead.

"Oh, no…"

He grinned and encouraged her to rest one of her legs on his shoulder, then turned his head to trail kisses up her inner thigh. "Oh, yeah."

She tried to bury her fingers in his hair, but it wasn't long enough. She had to settle for resting her hand on his head as he teased her folds apart with his tongue, seeking her clit but then drawing away from it the moment she gasped.

It took all of her willpower not to just drag him back upright and guide his cock inside her. After a few minutes of merciless teasing with his fingers and tongue, she might have given in to that urge, but then he began to suck on her clit in long, strong pulses, each one unravelling her a little further.

She gasped out profanities, instructions, pulling his head tighter against her as she tried desperately to reach her peak. Weller sped up, and Jane cried out encouragement, her body flushed and trembling and so, so tense…

Her inner muscles almost pushed out his fingers as she came hard, and his satisfied growl against her clit only intensified her climax. She had to brace her foot against Weller's shoulder to keep from sliding down the wall. He caught her around the waist before she fell, then gave her one final, lingering lick before he rose to his feet again.

Jane buried her face in his neck, panting. Weller held her, letting the wall take some of their weight but being careful not to crush her against it.

"Let me get you lying down and I bet I could give you a few more," he said, his voice husky.

She shivered, imagining what it would be like to be completely at his determined mercy. But she was already too emotional, knowing that tonight would be the last time they'd be together like this. If he got any further inside her defences, she was afraid she'd thank him for caring about her, or worse—cry.

"No," she told him, standing on tiptoe and rubbing her clit against his erection. "I want you inside me. Now."

He slipped a hand between them, cupping her so she was grinding against his palm instead. "Wait there."

Jane leaned back against the wall and watched him pull protection from his wallet. He turned to find her ogling his naked body and grinned. "You're not even trying to be subtle, are you?"

"Had enough subterfuge for one day," she said, meeting him halfway across the room and kissing him until the smile dropped from his lips, replaced by a look of pure sexual focus.

He lifted her off the floor and she instinctively wrapped her arms and legs around him, her pulse jumping at the uncertainty of trusting him to bear her weight. He moved one hand between their bodies, and suddenly the tip of his covered cock was pressing against her entrance, making her breath catch. Slowly, she let her body weight fall, impaling herself on him, and he groaned against her neck at the sensation.

She'd expected him to carry her through to her bedroom, but he went into the kitchen instead. The chair he'd waited in the night of her arrest was still in the same place against the wall. Weller pulled it out into the room a little, then lowered himself into it with her in his lap. As she settled onto him, he slipped a hand to the back of her neck to kiss her gently, then pressed his forehead to hers.

"This okay?"

She closed her eyes, shutting out his concerned gaze, and transferred her weight from his thighs onto her feet, rising almost all the way off his cock before lowering herself back down. She was in complete control, and the way he'd taken her needs into consideration made an intense ball of indescribable emotion rise into her chest. She willed it away, angling her hips just right as she began to take him, and let pure, primal want take over everything else.

"This is good."


	38. A Million Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nas gives Weller some new information about Sandstorm. He doesn't take it well.

The team was able to arrest the woman who'd murdered the two museum gallery patrons the next day, and follow the trail of clues to close the case by early evening. Weller had kept himself so busy that he'd had no time to dwell on last night with Jane, but after he'd thanked everyone for their hard work and dismissed them all for the night, he returned to his office to begin his daily paperwork. It was then that everything caught up with him.

Jane had actually been playful at times last night—smiling, teasing him with her words and actions both, provoking and enticing him even as she tried to piss him off. He didn't know what was going on in her head—didn't even know if _she_ knew—but at times he could almost have believed that she'd forgiven him. That she was slowly moving past the trauma of her arrest.

At times, though, she'd slammed down so hard on her emotions that he'd been left in the cold without warning. After her first orgasm had left her almost unable to stand without his support, he'd offered to take her to bed and continue going down on her, but she'd diverted him towards his own pleasure with an inexplicable sadness. He'd wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but her earlier words had been a warning.

_I'd rather you fucked with my body than my mind._

On one level, he understood. During her torture, she'd closed off her thoughts and endured everything her torturers had inflicted upon her body. She wasn't ready to let herself be vulnerable again, especially not since he'd damaged her trust in their relationship so badly when he'd arrested her. She'd let herself accept the pleasure he gave her, but wouldn't let him break through her barriers to the intimacy he really craved.

_You broke my heart, Weller._

But it hurt to think she was shutting him out. That she'd trust him to see her naked, to touch her inside and out, yet wouldn't connect with him on an emotional level.

He sighed and adjusted the stack of papers in front of him, not seeing any of the details on the top sheet, no matter how much he craved the distraction from his thoughts.

After she'd ridden him to an intense climax in her kitchen, she'd draped herself over him, her face pressed against his neck while she'd calmed down. The occasional quiver of an aftershock had rippled through her, sending frissons of pleasure through him in turn, though he was too spent to do anything about it except for hold her more securely against him.

When he'd been reasonably confident he could stand up without spilling them both to the floor, Kurt had urged Jane up from his lap while he dealt with the condom. When he'd turned around from throwing it in the trash, she'd immediately stepped back into his arms, giving him a soft, lingering kiss that had been yearning and sweet and sad all at once. He'd lost himself in it, in the way she'd cupped his face with one hand and his neck with the other. In the small, appreciative noise she'd made when he'd gathered her closer, deepening the kiss and pouring into it all of the love she wasn't ready to hear that he felt.

She'd broken away just as he'd started considering letting his hands wander again. Breathless, she'd turned her head to end the kiss, resting her hands on his chest to push gently back from his embrace.

"Goodnight, Kurt," she'd murmured—the first time he could remember her using his first name since he'd told her about the tooth isotope result. Then she'd retreated into her bedroom without a backward glance, the playfulness of earlier that night nowhere to be found now.

It had felt like more than a goodnight—almost a goodbye. He'd almost decided to sleep on her couch to make sure she didn't disappear in the middle of the night, before he'd realised how completely unreasonable and stalker-like that would have been. So he'd gone home, though he hadn't slept well.

Jane had been at work on time this morning, a little subdued but focused on their case. She hadn't run off, the way his instincts had irrationally predicted she would. So what the hell was going on with her? Was it just another symptom of her PTSD that she needed to work through?

Or did she—

"Weller." Nas was standing in the doorway to his office, appearing hesitant.

"Come in. Have a seat." He shook himself out of his gloom and made himself focus on the woman in front of him.

She did so, smiling faintly. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Not too far off." He waited for her to take a seat before asking, "What's on your mind?"

Nas almost looked abashed. "There's something I haven't told you. I've been waiting for the right moment."

Every errant thought about Jane fled his mind. "What are you talking about?"

"I wanted to wait, get a sense of your personality and your loyalties before I came to you with this."

"For God's sake, Nas. Keeping secrets from each other is what screwed my team up in the first place. I need to know everything you're not telling me about this case. Now."

"It's just the one thing, actually. And it's specific to you, personally." She hesitated, then said, "It's probably easier to show you, if you want to come down to the annex—"

"Let's go, then."

The atmosphere between them was tense as they walked through SIOC, side by side. Reade and Zapata shot them curious glances as they passed, but seemed to have their own drama they were working through. If it had anything to do with why Reade was so touchy lately, Weller hoped they could work through it.

Jane was just leaving Zero Division as they got there, and Kurt almost barrelled into her.

"Sorry," he said automatically, reaching out to steady her.

"It's okay." Jane looked from him to Nas, taking in their serious expressions. "Everything all right?"

"It's fine," Nas said. "I thought you had a session with Borden?"

"I'm just heading there now," Jane said slowly, her curiosity morphing into suspicion. "Is something going on that I should know about?" _Or that you don't want me to know about?_ her body language added, though she refrained from actually adding the words.

"I have no idea. Nas needs to show me something she's been holding back."

"He can fill you in later if and when he deems it appropriate," Nas said. "But it's important that Weller sees it first."

Jane nodded, but the distrust didn't quite fade from her eyes. "I'll get going, then."

Kurt watched her go for a second, shaking his head. "You did not handle that well."

"You'll understand why when I've shown you." Nas moved past him into Zero division and began to call up folders on one of the wall screens, searching for something. "Do you remember I told you I had a contact inside Sandstorm? Who tipped me off about Jane being on the way to Times Square? Before he went dark, he managed to tell me you're an integral part of Sandstorm's plan."

"That's hardly news. My name's tattooed on Jane's back."

"He also sent me this." Nas called up a video file.

Kurt watched in stunned silence as he watched grainy footage of his teenage self graduating from Liberty Military Academy. "Sandstorm had this?"

"Shepherd's been watching you for a lot longer than you think."

"No kidding." His anger at Nas' secretive behaviour dissipating for the moment, Kurt stared at the last, frozen frame of his own face. "Why? Why would Shepherd have been watching me since I was a kid? It makes no sense. I wasn't with the FBI at the time. I had no law enforcement connections at all. I didn't come from a family of cops or anything that might have made me a target."

He looked over at Nas. "This contact. Did he give you anything else, anything that could put this in context?"

"Nothing." Apologetically, she shook her head. "I was hoping you might have had the missing puzzle piece. Maybe we could look into that period of your life together, see if we can find anything that might point in the right direction?"

He nodded distractedly, staring at the screen. "I'll pull my old yearbooks and paperwork out of storage, bring them in. We can go through everything."

"Are you going to tell Jane?"

He nodded, without a doubt in his mind. "Last time I kept information from Jane about this case, Mayfair ended up dead. I'm not gonna make the same mistake twice."

Not only that, but he found himself wanting to sit and talk about this with Jane, alone, away from Nas or anyone else. To spend time with her, throw around theories, try to make sense of it all. Maybe she'd recover a memory based on this; probably not, but either way, it didn't matter. He just needed her to know.

* * *

Jane had tried to concentrate on her session with Borden, but whatever was going on with Nas and Weller had kept getting in the way. She'd managed to discuss her frustration at her latest arm injury and talk about her nightmares a little, but she knew her therapist had sensed her distraction. She'd felt compelled to apologise at the end of their session, though she hadn't been able to explain why she'd been so unfocused.

Borden had taken it in stride, telling her they'd pick it up next time and not to worry. Now Jane was heading back to Zero Division, intent on finding out what information Nas had been hiding from them, whether it was from Nas' lips or Weller's.

Zero Division was deserted; not a surprise, given that her session with Borden had lasted ninety minutes, and the team had solved a case earlier in the day. Wondering if Weller was still in his office, she made a beeline for SIOC.

There were a few people still milling around, finishing up tasks, but not with any kind of urgency. The light in Weller's office was still on, though the slats on the blind next to his desk were down. She assumed he was still there, but until she opened the door, she wouldn't know for sure.

She tapped on the door gently, then cracked it open to peek through the gap. "Hey. Got a minute?"

"Jane. I figured you'd come by." Weller was at his desk, but didn't seem to be doing anything important. A bottle of scotch and a tumbler were on the desk, which indicated he was done with work for the day.

It wasn't until she'd closed the door and approached the desk that she realised he wasn't just having one drink. He was visibly intoxicated. Not rolling drunk, but she could pick up the subtle signs that he was on his way there.

It was similar enough to the way he'd looked on the night of her arrest to send a quiver of unease through her.

"You…don't look good," she said tentatively.

He gave a short, humourless laugh and poured some more scotch. "'s 'cause I'm not."

When he put down the bottle, Jane leaned across and grabbed it—not to drink, but to confiscate from him. He'd clearly already had enough, at least for the office.

"Want me to find you a glass?"

"That depends on what you tell me. What did Nas say?"

"Sandstorm has a video of me graduating from military school. Apparently, your mom has been watching me for half of my life, and I didn't have a clue."

A shiver ran down Jane's spine. "That's…creepy."

He looked amused, in a desolate kind of way. "Yeah. It really is."

"That explains how Remi knew who you were, I guess." She turned the bottle around in her hands, just for something to do. His intoxication was still making her nervous.

"I don't get it, Jane. I thought my name was on your back so I'd get your case, and then you'd have access to Mayfair. But back then, I hadn't even decided if I was going to Quantico or the police academy. They'd have no reason to watch me. Unless Shepherd was prematurely sizing me up as a date for your senior prom…"

She laughed bitterly at the thought. "And the whole tattoo thing is some kind of elaborate matchmaking attempt? Thanks, Shepherd, but I could have done without the ZIP."

Weller produced a second glass from somewhere. "Think you could use one too."

"I think you're right." She poured a modest measure of alcohol, then capped the bottle and put it on the floor at the side of her chair. "If you weren't paranoid about phase two before, you are now, right?"

He frowned into his glass as if it held all the answers. "What do they want from me, Jane? That's what I can't figure out. I feel like there's this huge puzzle piece missing right in the middle of the picture, and all I can see around the edges are the bodies of all the people who are gonna die if I don't figure it out."

_Oh, Kurt…_ Her anxiety melted away, her heart aching at the weight that he must feel on his shoulders.

"We've got your back, Weller. Me, Nas, the team…we'll figure this out together. I'll see what I can get out of Roman. Patterson can work her magic in the lab. Nas can spy on everyone with her illegal satellites or whatever. Zapata and Reade can chase down some leads and bust some heads. Then we can all go and beat the crap out of Sandstorm and get this over with."

He smiled. "I've got your back, too."

"You're literally _on_ my back," she pointed out, and took a sip of her scotch.

"At least it's just my name and not a picture of my face."

She couldn't help but snicker. "How much of that bottle have you drunk in the past hour?"

"More than I should have," he admitted, and leaned over to pour the remainder of his glass into hers.

"You're getting a cab home, right? You're not driving?" She sounded like a mother hen, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

"You should drive me home," he said. "I'll make us dinner. You can crash on the couch. Or in my bed. Wherever you're comfortable."

Jane could only stare at him, confused. Yesterday he'd said they wouldn't be sleeping together again, but now he was asking her over to his place?

Taking the decision out of her hands, her pager beeped in her pocket.

"That's Roman. Guess I should get going." She grabbed her glass and downed the rest of the booze, then gasped through the burn, her eyes watering. "I'll see what I can find out," she added, when she could speak again.

"Be careful," Weller told her. "If it seems like you're in dangerous territory, back off. I don't want you blowing your cover over this."

"I'm always careful." She headed for the door, her head spinning slightly with the alcohol. _Probably shouldn't have finished that drink, though_. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jane."

 


	39. Family Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Roman bond over drinks.

Roman was already leaning over the bar when Jane arrived, a beer in front of him and a morose expression on his face. Jane approached tentatively, not wanting to startle someone who’d already admitted to past trauma. “Roman?”

He smiled a little and sat back. “There you are.”

As she took the barstool next to him, Roman signalled the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

“It took me a whole night of drinking with two of the FBI team to figure out that bourbon’s my drink,” Jane said, taking it with a nod of thanks to the guy behind the bar.

“You still have the same food and drink preferences, even after the ZIP. I guess I should warn you to avoid Peeps, if you haven’t found that out already.”

“Those crappy marshmallow birds? Yeah, I found that out the hard way.” She shuddered. “Not a fan. For some reason, Reade’s addicted to them.”

“We used to line them up on the fence and use them for target practice when we were teenagers.”

Jane grinned into her drink. “A little smaller than beer cans, aren’t they?”

“Shepherd wanted us to be accurate. The smaller the target, the better she liked it.” He cocked his head at her. “You had a drink before you came out here?”

“You could tell, huh?” She shrugged. “Weller has a bottle in his office. We just wrapped up a case, so he poured us one.”

“What do you think of him?” Roman asked.

Jane got the feeling the question was double-edged, somehow. She took a slow sip of her drink before she answered.

“I like him. I like the whole team, though we have our differences in a lot of ways,” she said carefully. “He’s solid to work with, doesn’t put his people in danger. Good grasp of mission tactics. Why? What do you think of him? And don’t tell me you haven’t surveilled him at some point.”

“I agree. He’s solid. Honest. Morally upstanding. That’s why we sent you to him.”

Seeing an opportunity to get more information, Jane said, “I don’t get it. I thought you sent me to Weller because Mayfair was his superior. You’re telling me you did it because he’s good at his job? A good person?”

Roman hesitated, as if sensing he’d slipped up somehow. “You had no memory when you came out of that bag. We wanted to make sure you were with an agent who would treat you like a human being, not like a living piece of evidence.”

“And I’m sure his weakness for Taylor Shaw helped as well.”

Roman inclined his head and kept drinking.

Sensing she was hitting a dead end, Jane changed course. “So, you looked kind of down when I walked in, and you actually wanted to hang out with me socially, with no missions or tests going on. At least, that I know about. What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I just miss you. The old you, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I see flashes of you in there, but you’re not back yet. We went through so much together as kids. I got used to you not being around when you joined the military, but that was a while ago. We had a few years together after you got back, though you were living with Oscar, not me and Shepherd anymore. And then you went off on this mission, so…”

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine what would make me give up a whole lifetime’s worth of memories for this mission. I know we had some awful childhood experiences, but we must have had good times too. Fun times. Times I wouldn’t want to give up my memories of.”

Roman shook his head. “You were dedicated. Totally devoted to the mission. You came back from Afghanistan in a rage, totally ready to bring this government down. You were close to the others in your unit. You lost a lot of friends that day.”

“But you’re my brother. Shepherd’s my mother. I still had you.”

Roman snorted. “Shepherd pushed you the whole way. She saw that new fire in you and she fanned those flames as much as she could. We were the first soldiers in her private army, and we’re still the best. I thought she’d want to keep her generals close by, keep their minds intact, but no. She wanted you to go, almost as much as you wanted to.”

Jane felt a wave of sympathy for Roman. He’d gotten swept up between two strong-willed, fanatical family members who cared more about the cause than about him. No wonder he was depressed.

“I think Remi was wrong,” she said softly. “She shouldn’t have given up her memories. Not when you’d been through so much together.”

For a second, she thought Roman was going to cry, but he shook his head and drained his beer bottle instead. “Your round.”

They moved to a quiet table in the corner of the bar with their second round of drinks, at Jane’s request. What she wanted to ask was too sensitive for a bartender to overhear.

“What’s happening with Cade?”

She’d been prepared to use the turncoat operative as a cover story when she’d been fairly sure he was dead, but now she knew he was alive and had been trying to stop Sandstorm, the fact that he was back in their hands didn’t sit right with her.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s still alive. We’re saving him for you. We’re nearly done with him, though, so you’ll get to avenge Oscar as soon as we’re sure we don’t have anything else to extract from him.”

Jane blanched, the Jeffrey Kantor scenario running through her head again. Another test she might have to pass or fail. Knowing Roman could sense her distress, she took a sip of her drink to calm herself.

“You mean torture, right? Sorry, I know what he did, and he deserves to die for what he did to Oscar, but anything that reminds me of the CIA…” She shook her head.

She couldn’t tell if Roman bought her reasoning. After a moment of silence, he asked, “PTSD still bad?”

“Getting a little better,” she confessed. At least, her Weller-related trauma was lessening after the new memories they’d made together in her living room. Not that she could tell him that—some things you just didn’t share with your brother, whether you were close to him or not. The other source of her trauma, however… “Any sign of Keaton?”

“He’s in Europe somewhere. Lost track of him in Portugal.” Roman scowled. “He’s gotta come back sometime, though. We’ll be ready for him.”

Jane nodded, a distant coldness settling over her at the thought of the man who’d broken her body and fractured her mind. She wanted him to pay. The more she talked about him with Borden—the more she wasn’t allowed to mention his name—the more she dreamed about him, the more setbacks she suffered in her recovery…the more she knew he had to be stopped. And law enforcement wouldn’t do it. Weller and Nas could protect her, but not prevent him from continuing to do the same thing to others.

_It’s not Keaton. It’s the whole agency. If you kill him, his replacement will be just as bad. Look at what Carter was like. Whoever’s next in line will be just as barbaric._

But what could she do? No one would prosecute him. It was all ‘in the interests of national security’. Maybe he’d get a slap on the wrist for using black sites on US soil, but anything else would be dismissed as necessary. How could she fight something like that, without embracing her old, terrorist self? How could she explain to Weller if she—

“Remi. Look at me.”

Jane realised she wasn’t breathing and let out her breath as a tearless sob, then sucked in a fresh lungful of air. It wasn’t a panic attack, not the way she’d had them before. It felt more like she was frozen, like she had to will herself to breathe rather than have it happen naturally.

Roman’s gaze steadied her. “I know all this is hard. I wish I could help more. Just hang in there, okay?” He squeezed her hand.

“I thought I was doing better,” she said.

“It hasn’t even been two months yet. You need time.”

“I’m sick of being so weak. I can’t even use a punching bag yet. I just want to get back to being strong, you know?”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Roman said, smiling a little. “You dragged me through our childhood when I wasn’t strong enough to go on. You’re allowed a little downtime now and then.”

“Why do I get the feeling Shepherd doesn’t agree?” Jane said.

The smile dropped off his face, the shadows returning. “Because she doesn’t. Not anymore.”


	40. Symbolic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected hacking from Rich Dotcom brings up more issues for Jane and Kurt.

"Got something for you."

Surprised, Jane glanced up from the Wikipedia page she was reading on her lunch break. "Hmm?"

Weller glanced at her screen. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. But out of curiosity, why are you researching South Africa's political enemies?"

"Just wondering if I could figure out who I was being trained to fight. You know, as a kid." She shrugged her good shoulder, used to keeping the other one immobile by now. "Not to mention, my political memory got wiped as well as my personal one. Never hurts to brush up."

She eyed the folder in Weller's hands. "What's this?"

He pulled a chair over from the adjacent desk and sat. "I finally got time to look into Kalina's husband."

Jane took the folder he offered and looked over the papers within. "You found something?"

"He's been under-reporting his income for over a decade. I get the feeling the IRS will be pretty interested to hear about that."

Jane hesitated. "Is jail time likely? Because if it's just a fine, that could cause more issues for Kalina than it solves."

"Turn the page."

Jane looked back at the paperwork, flicking to the final page. "Ugh. Not only is he a wife-beating tax-dodger, he helps run an illegal gambling ring for dog fights? I hope they throw away the key."

"No kidding." Weller sighed. "Do you want to talk to Kalina before I contact the local police? Give her a heads-up what's going on?"

"I'll call her tonight," Jane promised.

"Sure. Just let me know." Weller stood up.

Jane reached out to touch his arm, preventing him from walking away. "Thank you. This will mean a lot to her. And it means a lot to me, too."

Weller gave her a small smile in return. "You're welcome. She helped me find you; I owe her."

As he walked away, Jane placed the file in her desk drawer, a warm glow spreading through her chest. Even with all of the Sandstorm revelations recently, Weller had still found time to help Kalina. He had his flaws, and she still didn't trust that he wasn't holding things back from her, but she still felt—

"Shall we play a game?" a disembodied voice queried, a real person's poor imitation of a computer-generated voice.

Jane blinked as her computer screen showed a game of tic-tac-toe against a black background. When she looked around, every screen in her line of sight showed the same thing, including the large screens at the end of the room.

"Umm, Patterson?" she called.

"Oh, this is very not good!" Patterson jumped off Zapata's desk—where she'd been sitting and chatting to Tasha while eating her lunch—and ran down to the big screens.

Everyone congregated nearby, watching as she grabbed a tablet and furiously began inputting commands into it.

"What's going on?" Weller demanded.

"I have no idea, aside from that we're being hacked and I have no control over our systems right now," Patterson said, not looking up from her work.

"Okay, you guys are taking forever." The tic-tac-toe game was replaced with a familiar face to match the now very familiar voice.

Jane bit back a groan. "Rich Dotcom?" He was exactly as she remembered: slightly unkempt, wearing a mischievous expression, and…surrounded by pictures of kittens? Okay, that one was new.

"Rich, what the hell are you doing?" Weller demanded.

"Seriously? Nobody remembers _War Games_? 'Shall we play a game?' Matthew Broderick? Nobody? Bueller?"

Nas was obviously even more confused than the rest of them. "Who is this guy?"

"Rich Dotcom. Dark web hacker we caught last year." Reade scowled at the screen.

"Until I busted out and tricked these guys into helping me steal half a billion dollars' worth of art. And then I escaped. Like a _boss_." If she'd ever seen anyone looking more smug than Rich did right now, Jane couldn't remember it.

"Tell me you can track him," Weller demanded of Patterson.

"With what?" Patterson demanded, brandishing her tablet. "This thing is useless until I can get back into the system!"

"Rich, we're not playing any more of your games," Jane said.

"Oh, this is not a game. This is very, very real. Now, I'm gonna give you back full control of your computers—for a price. On the top floor of your building, there is a secret Air Force drone command centre. I'd like you to use that to bomb the following coordinates."

The coordinates in question flashed up at the bottom of the screen, and Zapata pulled out her phone, presumably using her cell phone data connection to see if she could track down where they led to.

"No, not a chance." Weller folded his arms.

Rich grinned. "Well, then... In that case, I'm gonna delete every FBI server in existence. Including the backups. So, goodbye, a hundred years of FBI history, not to mention any active investigations. Goodbye! You have until I'm done binge-watching _Stranger Things_. No spoilers, please."

"All of this to make us drop a bomb? Seems a little sketchy." Jane frowned. Something wasn't right here. This wasn't Rich's style.

"No, but you know what _is_ sketchy? This gorgeous artwork I found."

Jane froze as Rich held up a sketchbook towards the webcam he was using. A very familiar sketchbook, with very familiar designs on the pages.

"That was a bad pun. It's actually not sketchy, it's great. You're extremely multitalented, Janie. Are these designs for your next tattoo? Because I really like this one." He turned the page to show the sketch of her back, Weller's name replaced with a panorama of Times Square.

"He's at my safehouse. You son of a bitch!" she addressed Rich directly.

Rich grinned. "Guess I'll see you soon. Take your time, please. I'm only on episode seven and I'd really like to finish the season. I can't believe they killed Barb! She was a smoke show."

He gave one last cheery wave, and the screens blacked out.

Everyone turned to stare at Jane. And to pretend they weren't watching Weller.

"Those are your sketches? You're sure he's at your place?" Weller's jaw was taut as he waited for a reply. The earlier friendliness between them was gone, and Jane inwardly cursed. Had Rich picked the most private, personal piece of artwork in that book on purpose?

Of course he had. He was Rich.

"Positive. I haven't taken that book out of my apartment. Either he is there, or he _was_ there."

* * *

 Ten minutes later, Jane and Weller were on the road, heading towards the safehouse. Weller hadn't spoken a word since they'd gotten into the car.

"Talk to me, Weller."

He was silent for a moment, as though trying to work out how to approach the subject. Then, slowing as a stoplight turned red, he said, "You were serious, then. About getting my name taken off your back."

"Yeah, I put together a few possible designs a few weeks ago. I checked with Roman that there weren't any other hidden clues in that particular tattoo, and he said it was just the Guerrero case. The combination to the lock being your first name." She tried to read his expression, but came up with nothing. "Why does that make you angry?"

"It doesn't. It's your body, and you can do what you want with it. If Roman says there's nothing else hidden in the tattoo, it doesn't need to be preserved." His voice was steady, and altogether too casual.

"Okay."

"Okay."

An awkward minute passed before Jane tried again.

"This is pretty clearly _not_ okay with you. Did you think I was going to have it on my back forever?"

Weller's voice finally showed some emotion—irritation. "No, Jane. I knew you were considering it because you yelled it at me back when we were at Sarah's."

Jane scowled. "I had a good reason for being angry. You withheld critical information about my case."

"I'm not saying you're not allowed to be angry."

"Then what?" Jane asked, exasperated. "Is this some kind of macho ownership thing? Why are you acting like this is a…a _rejection_?"

That was exactly it, she realised as they drove on. He was acting like she was going to take his name off her back after she'd chosen to put it on her skin in the first place, the way someone would tattoo their partner's name, or their child's.

Weller sighed. "That's not it."

 _Could have fooled me._ "Then what is it?"

"I don't know… I guess I saw that tattoo as symbolic. Of everything we've done over the past year. It was why we met in the first place, why I got your case." He shrugged, not looking at her. "You said you wanted to get it removed, but I thought it was just something you said in the heat of the moment."

Something about this conversation was…significant. Emotional. For both of them. Jane lapsed into silence for a few minutes, trying to work it out, and Weller just kept driving, the muscle at the side of his jaw twitching occasionally, like he was almost grinding his teeth.

She gazed at him, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Wondering why she didn't feel angrier at his presumption, to his reaction to something so personal to her own bodily autonomy.

"Did you think I'd keep it there forever?" she asked quietly, without heat.

"I guess I never really thought about it. We agreed at the start that you wouldn't remove the tattoos while the case was active, in case you wiped out a clue by accident. We didn't know back then that you'd be in a position to ask the people who put them on you."

"But now you think about it, it hurts you."

"It doesn't hurt me. It's just…unexpected." He shot her a glance. "And it feels like you're doing it because you're mad about the isotope test thing."

Jane took a slow breath, putting her thoughts in order. "That's not why. I mean…that's where it originally started. But that tattoo might as well say, 'if lost, please return to Kurt Weller, FBI'. It's like someone put a tag on me, connecting me to you."

"Is that really such a terrible thing?" The way he was avoiding looking at her wasn't just because he was driving. He was shutting her out.

"What if I need to disappear again?"

That got him to look at her, his eyes and voice sharp. "Is that something you're considering?"

"No, not right now. But a year ago, I never thought I'd be at risk of being scooped up and tortured by the CIA. I can't predict the future. And I'd feel better knowing my identifying features are vague enough that people can't just read and remember words off my back." Why couldn't he understand that?

"That tattoo helped me find you before the CIA did. If Kalina hadn't called me, Keaton might have found you first."

"That was last time! We don't know what the future is gonna bring, Weller." She shook her head, casting around for another point, something that didn't lead back to Keaton. "Even without it being a memorable identifying feature, what about other things? Say in a year's time, I can sleep through the night and I'm finally able to think about dating people. Do you think they'd be okay with me having another man's name tattooed on me?"

If Weller hadn't been tense before, he certainly was now. "Fair enough," he admitted, the words almost a growl.

"I guess I don't understand what difference it makes to you whether my name is there or not," Jane finished, looking out of the passenger side window. _Why is this conversation making me so uncomfortable now? My reasons are solid. And I'm not doing this to hurt him. Am I having second thoughts about this?_

"It doesn't make a difference. You can do what you want, Jane. I mean it." She sensed his eyes on her, but didn't want to meet them. She… _felt_ too much.

 _Too much what?_ Borden's voice in her memory asked.  _You have to name the feeling before you can deal with it, Jane._

She chose not to analyse it, backing far away from the emotion. She was busy. She was working a case.

After a moment, he added, "Just…don't ever disappear without telling me where you're going. Please. No matter what you're running from, you can trust me to be on your side. I screwed up once by not giving what you had to say a fair hearing. I promise never to let that happen again. No matter what."

"Thank you," she said softly.

As Weller parked the car outside the safehouse, a van full of backup was arriving behind them. It was a precaution they both doubted they'd need, but since Rich had already mentioned wanting one bomb dropped, it couldn't hurt to be careful.

Putting conversation aside, Jane and Weller both drew their weapons, their protective-geared backup hanging back as Weller took point. He caught Jane's eye, gave a silent countdown, then breached the door to her safehouse.

They found Rich in the living room, reclining on Jane's couch with a cheeky smile. He had a glass of bourbon in one hand and her sketchbook resting on his lap, and Jane didn't know whether to laugh or strangle him.

"FBI. Get off the couch, turn around and put your hands behind your head."

Weller's voice was more weary and long-suffering than angry, but Jane felt a lurching in the pit of her stomach anyway. She kept her gun trained on Rich, backing Weller up like a good partner should. Her queasiness was hard to ignore as Rich necked the rest of his drink, then got up, his hands raised. The hacker kept up a steady stream of irreverent chatter as Weller cuffed him, some of it addressed to her, but she didn't register any of it.

Two of their backup set about clearing the safehouse as the other two marched Rich out to the van. Weller looked over at Jane. "Anything look like it's missing or out of place?"

She glanced around, then shook her head, pressing her lips shut. Not trusting her voice.

Weller's warm hands on her arms steadied her. "Hey. I'm sorry— I wasn't thinking."

"I'm okay," she said, shaking free of his hold. Very conscious of the agents still checking for explosive devices in her kitchen and bedroom.

"We're clear," the woman in charge said, pulling off her helmet to reveal messy brunette curls. "Want us to check the rest of the building?"

"I think we're good," Weller said. "He obviously wanted us to arrest him, for some reason. Blowing stuff up after the fact would just get him in more trouble. Could you get him back to the NYO? We'll head back after we make sure nothing's missing."

"You got it, sir." The woman beckoned to her companion. They left, leaving the door ajar behind them.

"Guess I'll need new locks," Jane said, before Weller could say anything.

"We'll get a locksmith out here." He cupped her face in his hand, an intimate gesture that surprised her through her anxiety. "I should have warned you before I arrested him."

"You've arrested people in front of me before, and I've been fine. Don't blame yourself." She gave him a tiny smile. "I'm just a little shaken, that's all. I'm not gonna panic."

Weller kissed her forehead gently, and Jane closed her eyes, floating on the residual adrenaline of the arrest and the tenderness of his gesture.

"I thought you were mad at me," she murmured.

"Not mad. A little hurt, but not mad."

He was admitting it? She opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, concerned, but with a trace of that pain still lingering.

Jane stepped past him to the sketchbook and picked it up. After checking Rich hadn't added any lewd drawings to the pages, she flipped to the ones she'd drawn of her potential replacement tattoos and came back over to him.

"These are the ones I was considering."

He was tense, as though he didn't want to see, but he still looked.

Jane pointed first to the two abstract designs she'd drawn—swirling arcs, shades and blotches, nothing really recognisable. "I decided not to go with these. They were just placeholders, I guess. While I thought of something meaningful."

Without waiting for him to comment, she turned the page to the panorama of Times Square. It wasn't too detailed, and contained none of the advertisements she knew were all over the busy area, but it was instantly recognisable. "I chose this because it's where I was 'born'. The first thing I remember from my new life. Once someone actually got around to getting me a blanket and not shining spotlights in my face or waving a gun at me, people kept saying your name. I didn't know why. I barely even realised that I had tattoos for about twenty minutes after I came out of the bag, let alone that one was your name. But I connect you to Times Square even now. That's why this is the one I'm leaning towards. It's…symbolic."

Weller's expression softened at her words. "You don't have to do that. If you'd rather have something completely different—"

"I didn't draw it because I knew you'd be upset, Kurt. I drew it because it means something to me." _Because you mean something to me._

The sketchbook hung from her fingers, forgotten, as he kissed her. Not with the voracious need of their sexual encounters, but with a tenderness that tore a chasm in her chest and brought tears to her eyes. With every slow, sure brush of his lips against hers, Jane's defences crumbled a little more. She put her hand to his chest, his heartbeat strong against her palm. She'd meant to push him away, but when he covered her hand with his, she only melted against him further.

Sex, she could deal with. She could put it in a tidy little box as satisfying a physical need. But the need this kiss fulfilled was so much more than physical.

_No. Too much. This is too—_

She pulled away abruptly, unable to look him in the eye. _I don't deserve this. Not from you. Not after I turned your whole world upside down._

"Don't we have a hacker to interrogate?" She closed the sketchbook and tossed it on the couch, trying to regain her equilibrium.

Weller took a second to reply, as though he was gathering himself, too. "I want to be sure you're okay first. And that he really didn't take anything. Are you okay with me being here? After arresting Rich?"

Jane nodded, looking over the room to ensure everything was in its usual place. She attempted to diffuse her residual anxiety, and her overemotional response to Weller's kiss, with a joke. "I may need extra therapy after we interrogate him, but I'm good for now. We should go."

Weller took a step towards the door, all business now. "Let's get it over with."

 


	41. Mischief and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich cuts to the heart of the matter, as always.

He’d screwed up, and now she knew. Not exactly how much, maybe, but he’d seen it in her stunned gaze after she’d ripped herself out of his arms. She knew he cared deeply; maybe even that he loved her. But she didn’t want to deal with it. Maybe she didn’t even feel a fraction of what he did.

Kurt wanted to spend the journey back to SIOC nursing his wounded heart, but Jane was right there next to him, and even if she didn’t take his silence the wrong way, there were things she needed to learn from him rather than Rich. He put his discomfort aside.

“There’s something I should probably fill you in on before we talk to Rich.”

Jane gave him a wary look, and he realised she was expecting something he’d actually kept secret on purpose.

“It’s nothing serious. I just forgot to mention that Rich was the one who found out where your black site was. Patterson reached out to him after we ran out of leads.”

Jane blinked. “Wait. You knew where it was?”

“How else did you think I got to Oregon?” Her confusion surprised him.

“I thought maybe you got a tip-off from an informant in the CIA or something. Once I broke out. And then when Kalina called you, you were already in the area searching for me.” She watched him carefully. “What really happened?”

“Rich narrowed the location down to Oregon, so I flew out to stay with Sarah and Sawyer in Portland while he worked on getting a more specific address. Patterson called me when he got it, and I headed down to Springfield. I missed you by ten or fifteen minutes. I was heading down through the woods when I heard your escape vehicle go by on the road.”

“Oh,” Jane said softly, her focus turning inward, as if she was sinking into memories of that traumatic time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner. I came the second I knew where you were.” He slid his hand over hers where it rested in her lap, trying to bring her awareness back out of herself.

“It’s okay.” She squeezed his hand for a moment before pulling it out of his reach. “So you saw it, then? The black site?”

Kurt nodded, hoping his rage at the memory didn’t show on his face. “Yeah. I saw.”

Jane took a shaky breath. “I’d rather not talk about this now. But thanks for telling me. About Rich.”

“I should have mentioned it earlier. With everything else going on, I just forgot. I haven’t even gotten around to thanking him yet.”

Jane’s lips twitched. “Oh, he’s gonna be a nightmare.”

* * *

“We blanked out all the screens in there, and then took him to Zero Division,” Patterson explained, as they walked alongside her down from the elevator. “Not because he has anything to do with Sandstorm, but because of, um, that thing he did for us that time. We didn’t want him to shout about it to the whole building.”

“Good call. Are our systems all back online?” Weller had seen some of the agents using their computers on the way past, but it never hurt to check there were no problems.

“He gave us our access back like five minutes after you left. And those coordinates he gave us were for a silo in Kansas. I really doubt he wanted a bomb dropping at all. He just wanted our attention.”

“He should just walk through the front door upstairs next time,” Jane muttered. “He can leave my safehouse out of it.”

“Nas is in there with him now, but I don’t think she can figure out what to make of him,” Patterson finished off her report.

Weller couldn’t help but smile at that. “Who _does_ know what to make of Rich?”

“Good luck in there,” Patterson said, as they approached her lab. “I’m going to see if I can come up with a fix to make sure he never does anything like this again. Oh, and he says Boston is dead, but I’m pretty sure he’s lying, so be prepared for another double-cross. Nas will fill you in.”

Jane and Weller continued on towards Zero Division, leaving Patterson to her work. “What do you think this is about?” Jane asked. “He escaped from FBI custody just to signpost where he was less than a year later? He has to be playing us somehow.”

“He’ll have another escape plan,” Weller said. “You can count on it. What we have to figure out is what he wants while he’s here.”

Jane frowned. “You don’t think he just wants our thanks, right? He can’t be that crazy.”

“With Rich, I’m not gonna rule anything out.”

They reached Zero Division as Nas came out of the conference room with a pained expression on her face. “How are things going?” Jane asked.

“I’m going to need more coffee,” Nas said, and left the area without bothering to elaborate.

“That well, huh?” Jane watched her go.

“The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get him back to jail,” Weller said, and opened the door to the conference room.

“There you guys are! Thank god. Two minutes more and I was about to start screaming for help.” Rich rattled his handcuffs for emphasis.

“You look pretty scared, Rich. What’s going on?” Jane sat down opposite him. “I won’t bother asking how you found my safehouse.”

“The same way I found your black site. You’re welcome, by the way. I was waiting for the flowers and chocolates to start arriving, but then I realised you had no idea where I was, so I decided to change that.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Jane asked dubiously.

“It’s one of the reasons.” His confidence restored now they were here in the room with him, he gave Jane a lascivious smile. “You, Lady Jane, are looking as luscious as ever. I was pretty worried they were going to permanently disfigure that statuesque figure, but you seem to have come out of it pretty well—”

“Rich!” Weller’s voice came out so sharply that both Rich and Jane jumped. He tried to tone it down. “Enough of that.”

“Stubbles, is there something you’d like to say to me? Patterson has known how to contact me this whole time, and I just kept waiting and waiting for your call, but you just kept me hanging…”

Weller knew they wouldn’t be moving on from this point unless he just got it over with. “Thank you for finding Jane’s black site. Turns out that she’d already managed to escape when I got there, so technically the information wasn’t necessary in the end, but I do appreciate the help anyway.”

“Ahh, damn.” Rich sighed. “I knew there had to be a reason you weren’t offering me a place on your team.”

Weller struggled not to groan. _Are you serious?_

“Thanks for your help, Rich. Even if it did come a little too late. Thank you.” Jane’s voice was sincere.

Predictably, Rich preened. “You’re welcome. To help my favourite couple, I’d move heaven and earth.”

“ _Help_ me understand why you’re here,” Weller said.

“Oh, I will. I’m just waiting for your newest team member to get back with the coffee.” Rich shook his head. “Things are all wrong with this team right now. The chemistry is just…strange. I thought you were going to tell Jane how you feel?”

Weller lost the battle for stoic self-control and rolled his eyes. “Rich, I can’t even remember what I said to you to make you stop fixating on me and Jane, and actually get to work on the black site. Whatever it was, it was a means to an end.”

“Still in denial?” Rich sighed. “And you, Jane, you just look so lonely. Closed off. You don’t make eye contact with me or with anyone, least of all Kurt. But you’re not shying away from him either. This is interesting body language, actually…”

As Weller glanced across at her, Jane raised her head and gave Rich a steely-eyed stare.

“Okay, that’s not the kind of eye contact I was hoping for, but it’s a start. A little intimidating, but I think I’ve established in the past that I find that attractive in a partner, especially if we’ve negotiated a power-play dynamic beforehand—”

The door opened behind Rich, and he just about jumped out of his skin before he registered Nas was the one walking in. Weller raised an eyebrow. _Speaking of ‘interesting’…_

“You’re expecting an attack,” he said. “You’re in the basement of a building filled with trained FBI agents. Who do you think’s going to get at you here?”

The moment Rich had been preparing for—his big reveal—was clearly at hand. Complete with dramatic pause, he told them, “I’m being hunted…by the Akkadian.”

Jane shot Kurt a questioning glance, as though this must be a commonly known reference that the ZIP had erased from her brain. He had no idea what Rich was referring to, though.

“Seriously? Nothing? You don’t know who the…? Oh, my God. How do you still have a job?”

“Fine. Who’s the Akkadian?” Weller was more than ready for Rich to get to the damn point. Every moment that he and Jane were in this room with their ‘biggest fan’ was a moment Rich could use to analyse his body language and Jane’s. Weller dreaded to think how close to the truth Rich might get, if given enough time.

“It’s a myth,” Nas cut in. “It’s an assassin so lethal it’s able to reach targets in such untouchable locations that the intel community doesn’t believe it even exists. He’s a catch-all bogeyman. Might as well tell us he’s being hunted by the Easter Bunny.”

“As I already told you and Patterson, that ‘Easter Bunny’ already killed my beloved Boston.” Rich dropped his head into his hands.

_Any moment now, he’s going to start talking about true love or something else he can bring around to me and Jane. Time to stop playing his games._

“We’re not gonna get anything else from him.” Weller stood up. “Let’s get him to holding.”

Rich’s head shot up, genuine dismay in his features. “What? No! I need to stay here with you guys!”

Jane held open the conference room door while Weller manhandled the hacker out of his chair. Rich seemed genuinely terrified, not even making a comment about how much he loved to have Weller’s hands on him as they marched him towards the nearest elevator. Nas sipped her coffee quietly and Jane kept a wary hand on her weapon as Rich babbled things about safety and prisoner abuse and dereliction of duty—the whole way up to holding.

It was just after they’d handed him over to the guys on duty there that Rich turned to his favourite pastime again. As they were bundling him into a cell, he reached out a hand to Jane. “Kurt is clearly still in love with you—you don’t see this?”

Kurt froze, unable to believe the bastard had actually said the words. Wishing he could go in there and take his fury out on Rich, while simultaneously terrified that Jane would know that what he’d said was true.

Jane just gave a long-suffering sigh. “Goodbye, Rich.” She turned and walked out, shaking her head.

“He’s just confused, Jane! He’s confused!”

Weller stayed behind to give the guys in holding some last instructions—not because he was avoiding Jane, but because he didn’t trust Rich farther than he could throw him. After he’d finished talking to his agents, he stopped by the cell door.

“Just quit it, Rich. Jane went through hell in that black site. She might look like she’s healed, but she’s still recovering, and I don’t want you saying _anything_ that will make life harder for her right now.”

Through his genuine fear, Rich still managed to look as though Kurt had just offered him a puppy to play with. “That is just so sweet. You really _do_ love her. I knew it.”

Weller growled his frustration and hit the bars with the palm of his hand. “I mean it. Lay off, Rich.”

“You’ll thank me one day, mark my words! God knows the two of you are too stubborn to realise what you have on your own. I just hope I’m alive to see you—”

The door swung shut behind Weller, cutting off any further words.

 


	42. Protecting Their Shipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich and Jane have a heart-to-heart. Or more accurately, Rich makes a nuisance of himself until he gets a reaction he can use. ;)

Rich’s stay in holding hadn’t lasted long. Using a stolen tie clip, he’d loosened the screws on the air vent and escaped into the ventilation system, crawled all the way back to SIOC and begun making a nuisance of himself again. As it turned out, he’d made the right decision. The Akkadian had assassinated both of the guards in holding within a few seconds.

Reade and Zapata were scouting upstairs, Patterson was in medical after a bomb blast had knocked her out, and the rest of them were here in SIOC, protecting Rich, just like he’d wanted them to. The manipulative bastard had really thought this through.

Weller issued his next orders. “Nas, you and I will clear the floor. Jane, you stay with Rich. Be ready for anything.”

Jane rolled her shoulder, testing her injury. “Make it quick. If he’s a strong fighter as well as stealthy, I’m gonna be at a disadvantage.”

Kurt gave her a swift nod before he and Nas left.

“Hope the Akkadian didn’t hear that, because if he did, he’s gonna come straight in here right now.” Rich paced the room nervously.

“Rich, come here and sit down. There’s an air vent right above you.”

With a yelp more suited to someone who’d just seen an unexpected spider, Rich ran into the middle of the room and sat in the seat Jane had indicated.

“If I make my shoulder worse fighting this guy to defend you, I swear to god, I will take it out on you. Violently.”

Rich opened his mouth, the beginnings of a smile already beginning to tease the corners of his lips.

“And don’t you dare interpret that as kinky! I am as serious as a goddamn heart attack.” Jane glowered in his direction.

“I can tell. In fact, this isn’t like you at all. You and Kurt are clearly not connecting properly. Patterson said he arrested you, and that’s how the CIA got you, but I can’t find any of the juicy details online and I’m just dying of curiosity. What happened? Did you cheat on him?”

“Rich…” Jane clicked off her weapon’s safety for emphasis.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I just figured you might want to talk to someone you don’t have to see every day.”

It was unnervingly accurate. Sometimes she did want to talk to someone removed from the situation. But Rich Dotcom was the biggest gossip she’d ever met. He was the very worst person she could choose. She kept silent, hoping he’d take the hint.

“You know I’m right, though? About Kurt being in love with you?”

_So much for him taking the hint._

“Do you want to talk about this, or do you want me to protect you from the Akkadian? Because you don’t get both.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “Pfft. As if you wouldn’t protect me if he dropped in here while you were talking about Kurt. You’re too good a person to just let me die, especially since I’m your biggest shipper.”

Jane didn’t even know what that meant, but she didn’t bother asking. This day had already dragged on too long and been too damn confusing for her to keep her patience. “Rich, the list of things you don’t know about me would fill a book. I’m not a good fit for Kurt. Trust me. “

“Pardon my French, but that’s _le bullshit_. I have _never_ seen another two people as in tune with each other as you two are.”

Jane kept quiet, listening for telltale sounds in the walls.

“Sure, your vibe is a little wounded right now, but I could swear you’re even closer as a couple now than you were last year. He’s not still dating that lesbian marshal, right? Nah, he couldn’t be.”

While Jane checked the door was still secure, Rich lapsed into silence. He was _never_ this quiet. She actually had to look around at him to make sure that the Akkadian hadn’t somehow sneaked up and assassinated him.

When she did meet his eyes, though, his widened gleefully. “Wait. Did you two have sex?”

“Oh, for the love of God, Rich, just _shut up_!” Had he actually figured it out, or was he just taking a stab in the dark?

His face fell in an almost comical fashion. “Oh, was it bad?” he half-whispered in sympathy. “Sometimes these overly macho types, they just don’t try. They’re just like three thrusts and then they’re done. It’s really depressing. It’s disappointing enough for me; I can’t imagine how much worse it must be for women—”

As irritated as she was with Rich, the thought of Kurt Weller being a terrible lover struck Jane as funny. She turned away to hide her smile, trying desperately to straighten her features, but Rich must have seen through her façade, because he gasped like a schoolgirl at a slumber party.

“You _did_ sleep with him! Oh, God, you have to tell me everything.”

“Rich. Just stop, all right? We both know I’m not gonna say anything.” Jane folded her arms and stared him down.

“Guess I’ll just have to write some fan fiction instead. But look, Jane, all inappropriate questions aside, I’m just trying to help you, here. The man is besotted with you.”

He looked so serious, so genuinely sincere, that all the fight drained out of her. Weird as it was, Rich Dotcom actually cared about her. And she was so tired of carrying this burden all alone.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“So…? What’s the problem?”

Aside from the fact that she’d been a terrorist mole sent to infiltrate the FBI, and he was the Deputy Director, a great agent who everyone looked up to? She couldn’t even tell Rich that; it was classified information.

“He deserves better.”

“No, Jane. He deserves what he wants. _Who_ he wants. Who he _loves._ ” He shrugged, and the clownish expression was back on his face. “And hey, if the side effect of him getting what he wants is tons of orgasms for you, where’s the harm in that?”

“Shut up, Rich,” Jane said again, but there was no venom in her voice this time.

“And if I mention to anyone that we had this conversation, you’ll cut off my balls. Yup. Understood.” Rich held up his hands as if to fend her off.

Approaching footsteps made them both tense up. Jane stood between Rich and the door, her weapon half raised.

“It’s just us,” Nas called, then opened the door.

“Oh, thank God. Three agents are better than one.” Rich sagged in exaggerated relief.

“Two are better than none, actually. I’m not officially an agent. You have to go through Quantico for that.” Jane relaxed a little once Kurt and Nas were back in the room with them, glad to have backup.

“Glad to have you back, Stubbles. I was getting worried about you.”

“All good?” Jane asked Kurt.

“So far. Anyone heard from—”

“Weller, the Akkadian’s got Zapata!” Reade’s voice was ragged over their comms.

Jane’s stomach lurched. Tasha was still a little reserved with her, but she’d been friendlier of late. If the Akkadian hurt her…

“Do we know where?” Weller asked urgently.

“No. I passed out for a couple seconds. When I woke up, she was gone.” Reade sounded near to frantic.

“Come on down here and join us,” Weller instructed. “We’ll find her. I swear.”

* * *

Things moved in a blur after Zapata was taken. The Akkadian had injected her with a neurotoxin that was slowly killing her. Reade and Nas went up to the C1 administrator’s office to try to keep her alive. Meanwhile, Kurt and Jane acceded to the assassin’s demand that they leave Rich unattended—for around ten seconds, until they’d doctored the camera feed to loop back, showing he was alone when there were actually two agents in the room with him.

Jane and Kurt were both on high alert, waiting for the inevitable attack. The longer the Akkadian waited, the more likely it was that Zapata would die, and the responsibility felt like lead weights on Weller’s shoulders.

_Come on. Come on…_

“Kurt!” Jane’s sharp cry came a split second before he caught movement at the corner of his eye. The Akkadian was advancing on her in a full-on offensive, and Jane was falling back, dodging, landing kicks and the occasional punch or block with her good arm.

She’d use her wounded arm if she had to, Kurt knew, but every time she put stress on it increased the likelihood that her injury would worsen, perhaps even cause permanent damage. He had to make sure she didn’t take that risk.

Taking advantage of the Akkadian’s distraction, he attacked from behind, landing a hard blow to the back of the man’s head, hoping to stun him enough to immobilise him.

As the Akkadian turned on Kurt, Jane kicked out at the back of their assailant’s knee, sending him off-balance and turning the fight in their favour. It was closely matched, though, even with two opponents on one.

The Akkadian had figured out Jane’s weak spot, and Kurt saw the writing on the wall. Any second now, she’d be forced to use her injured arm, and the assassin would twist or wrench it, worsening her existing injury and taking advantage of her pained distraction to deliver a fatal strike.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Knocking Jane aside, he took the next hit himself, blocked a second, then hissed in pain as a knife slashed just below his collarbone, perilously close to his throat. _Fuck, that was close._

Jane whipped the Akkadian around by the arm, then used the momentum to flip him onto a table. The Akkadian lashed out imprecisely, stunned, and Kurt grabbed his knife arm, turning it so that the knife pointed back at the assassin. “Which vial is it?”

The Akkadian struggled, refusing to speak. Weller was stronger than he was, and they both knew the fight was won.

“Which one’s the antidote? Tell me!” he demanded.

The Akkadian used Kurt’s strength to his advantage—which helped him plunge the knife into his own heart.

“No!” Weller and Jane cried out simultaneously.

But it was done. The life faded from the man’s eyes within seconds.

“Damn it,” Weller groaned. “Team, the Akkadian’s dead.”

He and Jane leaned against furniture, panting to regain their breath, as Nas and Reade tried to figure out which antidote to use on Zapata. His fear was reflected in Jane’s face as they listened to the others decide on a vial and administer it.

All the tension seeped from Kurt’s muscles as Tasha gasped for breath, stabilising. Both Reade and Nas reacted with relief, reassuring Zapata that she was going to be fine.

“Oh, thank God,” Jane whispered.

A minute later, they found Rich crouching under a table in the next room; he’d fled during the fighting. Weller was in no mood to be civil to him after almost losing one of his team; he slapped the cuffs back on Rich and marched him bodily into the interrogation room, then clipped the cuffs to the table. He didn’t stick around to listen to the hacker’s babbled thanks.

Jane met him outside the interrogation room door. “Medics are taking care of Zapata now. Patterson thinks she knows Rich’s next move, too.”

She reached out to his bloody shirt. “Let me take a look at that.”

“It’s not serious.” Even so, Weller let her drag him over to the break area down the hall, where a first aid kit waited. The pain in his slashed chest finally began to catch up with him as he peeled the bloodied fabric away from his skin.

“You shouldn’t have knocked me out of the way.”

“He was going for your weak side. Better I got a little cut than you making your arm worse again.” Weller unbuttoned his shirt halfway, enough that Jane could see the extent of the injury.

She pulled a pained face in sympathy. “It’s not too deep. It might be worth getting sewn up, though.”

“Get stitches? And miss out on a new manly scar?” Kurt joked wearily. “I’ll be fine.”

Jane’s gentle touch made pain flare through his wound—especially when she brought out the iodine—but her ministrations were a balm to his soul. Her green eyes were dark with worry, her forehead creased in a frown.

“How’s your arm?” Kurt asked, barely resisting the urge to lean in and kiss the top of her head.

Jane tested the range of movement in her shoulder, keeping her eyes on his wound. “No worse. Thanks to you.” Pressing a fresh dressing pad over the injury, she finally looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He wanted to cup her face in his hands and kiss her. Instead, he smiled and began to rebutton his ruined shirt. “Anytime.”


	43. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane finally heals up enough to start combat training again, and Kurt is the perfect sparring partner.

When he heard industrial rock music playing down the hallway, Kurt almost gave up on his plan to get a workout in before other agents started arriving. It was five-thirty in the morning; he hadn’t been able to sleep, worries about Sandstorm and about his part in Shepherd’s plan plaguing him. He’d decided to come into work early and use the gym while it was quiet, but it sounded like someone else had had the same idea. Someone with an angry taste in workout tracks.

After a moment, he continued down the hall. He was here, so he might as well get some exercise. The alternative option was paperwork, and he didn’t feel like tackling it quite this early.

He reached the gym’s doorway and stopped, surprised. Jane was laying into a punching bag with all her might, sweat glistening on her tattoos and dampening her clothing. She seemed oblivious to his presence, and as she fell back to circle round a couple of steps, he saw she was almost in a trance, completely in her zone.

It had been over a week since Rich Dotcom’s dramatic re-entrance into their lives. He and his boyfriend, Boston Arliss Crab—who, as Patterson had suggested, wasn’t dead—were back in prison, serving their sentences and awaiting trial for the extra crimes they’d managed to commit while on the loose.

Since then, he and Jane had been friendly, but by unspoken agreement had kept their distance from each other outside of work. Kurt had no idea what Rich had said to Jane while he’d been alone with her, but his extremely obvious, “Remember what I said, Jane!” before he’d been taken away by the real prison transport guards…that made Kurt nervous. He’d asked Jane what Rich had meant, but she’d just shrugged and told him it was just Rich being Rich.

Jane hadn’t sought his company outside of work, and—conscious of the conversation they’d had after he’d kissed her neck in the locker room—Kurt had kept his hands and lips to himself while they were at the NYO. It seemed that what happened in Jane’s living room stayed in Jane’s living room, and Jane was happier that way.

He’d missed her, but instinctively, he knew she needed time and space. If she came to him again, it would be on her own terms.

Kurt stepped into the room, and Jane glanced over as she registered his presence. When she realised who had joined her, her face lit up. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He gestured to the punching bag as she crossed to the stereo system and turned down the music a little. “You’re using your arm.”

“Yeah. I got cleared for it last night, so…”

“And you’ve been here ever since?” he teased.

“Not quite. I did a quick set last night, but when I woke up early I figured there was no use lying around in bed. Are you here to work out? I could use a sparring partner.”

“Sure. Let me get changed and I’ll be right out.”

He headed into the men’s locker room, inwardly marvelling at the change in Jane. Her mood seemed lighter, her demeanour more open. He’d known she’d hated her injured body’s limitations, but it was only seeing her like this that brought it home to him just how much. She was almost like her old self again.

He changed into his workout gear quickly, then headed back out. Jane had stowed the punching bag away, and was stretching her newly healed arm experimentally.

“Hope you go a little easier on me than you did on that bag,” Kurt said.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I punch like a toddler right now. I probably couldn’t hurt you if I tried.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he told her, as they squared off. “Sawyer landed some pretty hard hits on me when he was that age.”

Jane smiled. “Don’t go easy on _me_ , okay? I’m out of practice, but getting my ass kicked helps me get better. I’ve been favouring this arm for so long that it’s turning into a habit.”

“You can probably still wipe the floor with me.”

“Let’s find out.”

They started slow, circling each other, studying each other’s movements for tension in a certain limb, a shift of weight in a certain direction that could indicate where the next strike was coming from. Kurt landed the first hit, taking advantage of her weak side. Jane didn’t let him press the advantage, turning aside to dodge his next blow, then dealing a light, symbolic strike to his kidney once he’d committed his weight to the punch. Kurt twisted back, making a mental note that she was still quicker than he was.

“Nice,” he told her, as they circled once more.

“How’s your wound?” Jane asked, touching her collarbone to indicate the healing knife slash the Akkadian had given him.

“Not slowing me down, if that’s what you’re implying.” He deflected her next punches, leapt over her crafty kick, almost managed to land a right hook of his own, but was caught off-guard by her pulling his arm into an arm-lock.

“I wasn’t implying anything,” she said breathlessly, keeping his arm twisted up and immobilised behind his back while her other arm snaked up around his neck, lightly simulating a choke-hold.

Kurt took a moment to appreciate the warmth of her skin against his before using his superior strength against her, flipping her up and over his back. She rolled into a soft landing and sprang to her feet, giving him a smile that made his heart somersault.

It had been so long since he’d seen real joy on her face.

He focused on parrying as Jane attacked, letting her land a few blows, content just to watch her enjoy herself. Then he grabbed her foot mid-kick and shoved her back, taking advantage while she was off-balance to sweep her other foot out from under her. She broke her fall on her forearms, kicked up into his midsection and regained her footing, shaking her head. “I should have seen that one coming.”

They continued for a while, until Kurt judged that Jane had had enough. She was breathing hard, obviously not in discomfort, but her moves were beginning to get sloppy. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been working out before he’d joined her, but she was in danger of overdoing it if he didn’t stop them soon.

He waited for an opportunity to take her down and pin her, but his own distraction saw him spilled onto the mat, flat on his back.

Jane grinned down at him, staying just far enough away that he couldn’t bring her down with him. “You done?”

Weller groaned, faking a cramp in his leg as he sat up. Concerned, Jane she stepped into arm’s reach, intent on checking him over. “Did I—?”

Her words sheared off with a gasp as Kurt pulled both of her ankles out from under her, then helped to soften her landing as she fell on top of him. He wrapped both arms around her, rolled her onto the mat and pinned her wrists on either side of her head, immobilising her body with his. “I think this means I win.”

Jane gave a token struggle, then went limp, laughing softly. “That was a dirty trick, Weller.”

“We fight criminals for a living,” he pointed out, gazing down at her from just a couple of inches above. “They won’t always play fair.”

“Huh.” Jane’s attention drifted down to his lips, then back up to his eyes again. Her amusement softening, she lifted her head and pressed a brief, breathless kiss against his mouth.

As she lowered her head back to the floor, he followed her down, capturing her lips and meeting her tongue halfway to his. They were both still catching their breath from their sparring session, breathing raggedly into each other’s mouths, their growing arousal only making it worse. Kurt lifted his head, trying to give them some room to recover, releasing Jane’s arms to support himself better and avoid crushing her.

The second she felt him give way, Jane rolled them over again, sitting astride his hips and using her upper body weight to pin his forearms to the mat. “Does this mean I win?”

“I could live with that.” Weller grinned up at her. “What does the winner get?”

“Hmm…” She leaned down again, her hair falling around his face as she kissed him. Her hips shifted in a subtle rhythm against his growing hard-on, stoking the fire within him. He tried to move his hands to her waist, but she was still pinning him down.

“Jane,” he murmured against her lips.

“Sorry,” she said, as she sat up. Then she quoted his words about his locker room behaviour right back at him. “Momentary loss of control. Won’t happen again.”

With a mischievous grin, she rose from on top of him and left him, speechless and panting, on the floor of the deserted gym.

“I guess I deserved that,” Kurt said to the ceiling, as he listened to the women’s locker room door clicking shut.

After giving himself a moment to calm down, he got up and headed for the shower. As he stepped under the spray, he realised that by the rules she’d set the other week, this meant she owed him an orgasm.

_Better make it a cold shower._


	44. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of crime-fighting and sexually-frustrated introspection, Jane goes home with Kurt. Smut ensues!

_That was probably a huge mistake. God, Jane, what were you thinking?_

She’d berated Weller for coming onto her at work, and here she was doing the exact same thing, only a couple of weeks later. Not that he’d seemed to mind—but their relationship was nothing if not contradictory.

He’d told her that they wouldn’t be sleeping together again, right before he’d invited her over to stay the night at his place. And then that kiss after he’d arrested Rich…that confused her every time she thought about it. She’d given up trying to predict what was going to happen next for them.

Kurt had had her pinned in the gym, and the euphoric adrenaline coursing through her blood had made her reckless. She’d given him a brief, teasing kiss almost out of instinct—something he could ignore if he was serious about really putting distance between them—and he’d kissed her back almost immediately, deeper, all heat and want.

She’d reversed their positions with no trouble, taking advantage of his distraction, but she’d been unable to resist grinding against his hard-on a little as she’d kissed him again. It had taken all of her willpower to leave him there, but her worry about his reputation with his subordinates had made her break away, though her body had protested the whole way into the locker room.

As she set up a fresh pot of coffee in the break area outside Zero Division, she wondered if his shower had been as cold as hers. Or maybe he’d just jerked off instead.

_So not thinking about that._

Except that now she was, her imagination running wild and undoing all the good the cold shower had done. Jane sighed, brushing strands of damp hair away from her face as she waited for the coffee to percolate. What was wrong with her today? Maybe the exercise was screwing with her hormones.

Or maybe it was just Weller.

She’d been thinking a lot about Rich’s words over the past week, though the entire situation was so ridiculous that she wanted to laugh. How was she even considering the advice of someone as aggravating and inappropriately sexual as Rich Dotcom? But he’d made more sense than she’d expected.

She couldn’t ignore that Kurt had strong feelings for her, not anymore. She hadn’t wanted to face that particular complication, but now that she had, she was ashamed of the way she’d been using him as stress relief and neglecting how he felt about her.

And how did she feel about him?

 _To own the feeling, you have to name it, Jane._ Borden’s words again.

She felt…a lot of things. He’d won back her trust little by little, and she could only hope she’d done the same for him. She no longer felt that deep sting of betrayal when she thought of the test results he’d concealed from her, though her thoughts still spun into turmoil when she tried to imagine what would have been different if he hadn’t. And every time her brain replayed his harsh words from the night of her arrest, she buried them under more recent memories of his concern for her safety, the way he’d always offered to listen after her nightmares and how he’d vowed to protect her from the CIA, no matter what.

It wasn’t always successful. Sometimes she was still wracked by doubt, his icy words in her memory cutting to the core of her being. But she reminded herself what he’d been through that night, and how much pain he’d been in, and the way he’d explained that he’d needed a target, any target. It didn’t make the way he’d treated her fair or right, but it reminded her that he was human. It helped, a little more each time.

She was afraid to think of the future. She was afraid to let down her guard. But if she could bear to do those things at some point, Kurt Weller would be the one she’d trust.

And in the meantime, sticking around for some pillow talk after sex was the least she could do. Assuming that he wanted to collect on that orgasm she owed him, that was.

Coffee in hand, she went into Zero Division and picked up the sketchbook and pencils she kept at the office. Patterson wasn’t likely to arrive early for work while she was on her happy cloud with Borden, so a tattoo breakthrough wasn’t likely until after eight a.m., and Jane had already debriefed with Nas about her most recent Sandstorm meeting. Until everyone else got here, her time was her own.

Turning to a blank page, she considered dropping by Weller’s office, but she knew that as Mayfair’s replacement, he had a lot of desk work to get through. She didn’t want to distract him more than she already had.

By the time the rest of the team began to arrive, Jane had sketched from memory each of the rooms she’d visited in Shepherd’s stronghold. Her ZIP-induced amnesia had blanked out her past, but thankfully, her memory for the things she’d encountered since she’d woken up in the bag was excellent, especially when it came to faces and things like the placement of objects on a desk. Jane wasn’t sure how much training she might have received to hone those skills at an early age, but she was loath to ask Roman about it, in case he didn’t realise how good her memory was. Any advantage she could keep was worth having.

Once she’d exhausted her work-related memories, she’d begun sketching a rabbit, hardly realising why at first. The markings of the black and white bunny came to her automatically, but when Reade looked over her shoulder with an, “Aww, cute,” she gained enough awareness of the present to put the picture in context.

“I think this might have been my pet rabbit when I was a kid,” she told him uneasily.

Reade winced. “The one they made you kill?”

“I can’t think of any other reason I’d be drawing it.”

Reade put his hand on her shoulder, the first overtly friendly gesture he’d made towards her since she’d come back from the CIA. “Don’t feel bad, Jane. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks,” she said, meaning the gesture as much as his words.

Reade sat down opposite her. “Kids…they feel responsible for things they have no control over. You ever find out who made you kill that bunny, I wouldn’t blame you if you snapped _their_ neck.” Thinking back over his words, he gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry. That sounded more comforting in my head.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Jane darkened the shading under the rabbit’s ear, then tore out the page and folded it. “I should probably show it to Roman. He might open up more if he sees that I’m remembering things from our past.”

Before Reade could answer, Zapata joined them, crowing about some sports results from the night before. Patterson and Nas were next into Zero Division, deep in conversation about metadata.

Weller was the last to arrive, and Patterson took that as her cue to begin briefing them on the tattoo alert that had come in overnight. As they all gathered around the monitor, Weller stood beside Jane, his arm brushing hers for a moment before he shifted his weight away. Jane chanced a look across at him; he was paying attention to Patterson, but there was a slight smile at the corners of his lips.

Once they had a lead to follow, the day kicked into high gear. Zapata and Reade rode along with Jane and Weller for most of the case, so it wasn’t until later in the day that they had a moment alone. They’d split up to track down different suspects, and Kurt and Jane were the first ones back to the car.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning against the driver’s door.

Jane stopped by the hood of the car, keeping out of temptation’s reach. “No concrete plans,” she said lightly, giving him an innocent look.

“Wrong answer,” he said, his predatory expression making her breath catch.

Jane continued her journey around the car to the passenger door. “Your place?”

He raised an eyebrow in momentary surprise, then smiled. “Works for me.”

* * *

It was the first time since before the black site that Jane had been in his apartment. Not that she had any time to look around at what had changed. The instant the door clicked shut behind them, Kurt pulled her into his arms, claiming her lips the way he’d been longing to since she’d left him in the gym.

“Was that the longest day ever, or was that just me?” he asked when they came up for air.

“Definitely not just you,” Jane agreed, letting him tug her shirt up over her head.

Kurt nuzzled her neck, lavishing attention on the bird tattoo and enjoying the way she shivered in response. “Gonna finish what you started?”

“Hmm…” She unbuttoned his shirt with unsteady fingers, distracted by his kisses just below her ear. “Think we can actually make it to a bed this time?”

In response, Kurt slid his hands down to her ass and lifted her. Jane wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched his shoulders as he carried her into his bedroom. When he lowered her to his bed, she didn’t let go, bringing him down on top of her.

“This is familiar,” she murmured. “Isn’t this where we left off this morning?”

“Almost.” He flipped them over and groaned appreciatively as Jane shifted down to straddle his hips, friction and heat right where he needed it.

Instead of pinning his arms this time, Jane pulled off her sports bra and discarded it, then took off her boots and socks before leaning down to kiss him. Kurt lost himself in the moment, in the rocking motion she made as she ground against his cock, in the brush of her nipples against his chest, in the warm enthusiasm of her kisses.

Jane sat up again slowly, gazing down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Kurt ran his hands down her breasts, watching her move, catching her nipples between his fingers as she leaned into his touch.

“I left you hanging earlier, so it’s your call. How do you want me?”

 _As long as you’re here, I don’t even care._ He bit back the words and focused on the lust pulsing through his body.

“First off, take off these pants.”

Jane gave him a quick kiss that ended with a teasing nip of his bottom lip, then reluctantly got up off the bed to comply with his wishes. Watching her strip down to nothing, he took off what remained of his own clothing, then tugged her into another kiss as they knelt together on the bed.

“Now what?” she asked, sliding her hand provocatively down his abs.

He stopped her before she could take hold of his cock, knowing if she got her hands on him, he’d be done within a minute.

“Turn around.”

Jane tilted her head, curious, but didn’t say anything as she did what he asked. When she was sitting on her heels, facing away from him, Kurt moved closer, kissing the nape of her neck as he slid his arms around her waist. Knowing how sensitive she was to neck kisses, he picked up right where he’d left off in the locker room the other week, this time with the tattooed side of her neck.

Jane relaxed back against him, giving a wordless murmur of approval as he moved his hands up to cup her breasts, the way he’d longed to when he’d done this at work. Her nipples were hard against his palms, and she pressed into his touch when he began to pull and tease them. When her breath began to shake and her hips were shifting of their own accord, Kurt dipped one hand down below her navel, stopping just above where she wanted him to go.

Jane parted her knees, encouraging him to continue, and tried to sneak her hand around behind her to find his erect cock. He batted her arm away and laughed at her frustrated growl.

“I want to make you feel as good as I feel.”

“I’m getting plenty out of this, trust me.” He distracted her by slipping his hand between her parted thighs, enjoying the quiver that ran through her body as he found her clit.

Jane moaned as he resumed his kisses across her neck and shoulder. She was so wet that his hand was soon soaked, and she writhed against him, her head falling back against his shoulder as he found just the right way to touch her. He didn’t push his fingers inside her, teasing but never actually carrying out the action. Soon she was almost sobbing with frustration in his arms. “Kurt…”

 _Fuck, yeah._ The sound of his name was more erotic than anything else she could have said. He increased the pressure of his fingers over her clit, letting her rub against them, putting her in control of her own climax while he kissed and nipped her neck and ear. She was tense and shaking in his arms, so close to falling apart.

“Let go, Jane. I got you.”

A couple of seconds later, she cried out her release, bucking against his hand as the tension trembled out of her. She gasped for breath as the aftershocks ebbed through her, and he tilted his head to catch sight of her blissed out expression.

She opened her eyes slowly to notice him watching her, and tilted her head back for a lazy, lingering kiss. “Now you,” she murmured against his lips.

He’d been ignoring his own desire, too fascinated by her responses and focused on her pleasure up until now. But when she leaned forward, putting her weight on her hands and knees before smiling back over her shoulder at him… He whispered a curse as he imagined how it would feel to take her from behind.

“Hold that thought,” he told her, and began to reach over to the nightstand for a condom.

“You don’t need protection. I saw my doctor last week.”

Kurt leaned over her back, masking his stunned disbelief by kissing his way down her spine. He hadn’t dared hope that she might consider sleeping with him regularly enough that it would be worth her taking care of birth control. He might be reading too much into it, but he didn’t think so.

“In that case…” He moved his hand between her legs, making sure she was still wet enough to take him in. She spurred him on with a soft moan as he slid in a finger, pushing her ass up and arching her breasts down towards the bed.

He considered pleasuring her that way for a while, but didn’t think he could stand it. Withdrawing his hand, he took hold of his cock and guided himself into her, biting back a groan as he sank into her tight heat. Without a condom, the sensations were more intense, and he had to take a moment to compose himself once he was all the way inside her.

“You good?” he asked, laying his hand on the small of Jane’s back.

“Mmmm…”

Encouraged by her satisfied hum, he began to take her slowly, drawing almost all the way out of her before pressing back in. Jane tilted her hips to control the angle, but let him do the moving for now. “More.”

He lost himself in the quickening pace of their coupling, holding onto her hips to steady them both as they found their rhythm. Jane began to meet him halfway, urging him silently to take her harder, faster, deeper. The tattoos on her back rippled with her sinuous movements, and seeing his name there on her skin gave him a deep, possessive satisfaction. _Mine. She’s mine._

It might have only been wishful thinking, a fantasy, but it was powerfully erotic. When Jane moaned and gripped the bedcovers for purchase, he groaned her name in response. “Fuck, Jane…”

They moved in frantic harmony, drawing apart, slamming back together, desperate, panting and writhing until finally, her orgasm broke around his cock in delicious waves, gripping him from the inside. He lost all control, his thrusts fast and forceful as he dug his fingers into her hips. Jane cried out again, and dimly he realised she was pressing her own hand against her clit as she came again. It was too much for him to handle, and he fell forward over her as he followed her into oblivious bliss.

When he could think straight again, he realised they’d collapsed sideways so they were spooned together. Kurt wrapped his arms around her, pulling her more securely into his embrace.

“The bed was a good plan,” Jane said, her voice carrying the kind of lazy satisfaction that gave every post-coital man an ego-boost.

“Agreed. Though I’m pretty sure we could have made the couch work, if we had to.”

“Or the kitchen counter.”

Kurt added that to his mental ‘to-do’ list. “Or the shower.”

“Ever tried your balcony?” Even though she was facing away from him, he could just about tell from the way her cheek curved that she was smiling.

“That’s a little more exhibitionism than I usually go in for.”

Kurt buried his nose in her hair and drifted, enjoying the scent of her, her warmth in his arms. And most importantly, the way she didn’t seem inclined to get up and leave him there alone.

After a couple of minutes, Jane tensed a little. “I just wanted to say…” Her words faltered, then strengthened again. “I’m not just here for sex. I… I know it’s probably not that easy to tell, and I’ve been, um...using sex to escape from my issues. I haven’t been that considerate of your feelings, and I’m sorry.”

Kurt rose up on one elbow, encouraging Jane to roll over so he could see her face. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve been complaining.”

“You didn’t need to.” She reached up to run her hand down his face, and it reminded him of the first night they’d met. “I’ll try not to be so…skittish.”

“Just be you, Jane. That’s all I want from you.”

She nodded, turning her head, but not before he saw the tears his words had brought to her eyes.

Kurt backed away from the conversation, not wanting to push her any further. It had probably taken a lot for her to admit what was on her mind. He lay back down and guided her to rest her head on his chest. “So if you’re not just here for sex… You want me to cook you breakfast in bed tomorrow, right? That’s the whole reason you wanted to come over here.”

Jane laughed under her breath. “You figured it out, huh?”

For a moment, he almost thought he had her. But then she lifted her head to give him a regretful look. “I don’t know if I should stay over. It’s the weekend.”

Kurt traced her jawline with his fingertips. “Why does that matter?”

She sighed and laid her head back down. “My weekdays belong to the FBI. My weekends belong to Sandstorm, if they have things they want from me. I can’t just relax.”

The sadness and resignation in her voice made him want to track down Shepherd and kill her on the spot. It enraged him that she had to consider what Sandstorm wanted even now, when she was naked in his bed. “What about you, Jane?” he asked, keeping his emotions out of his voice. “What time do you get for yourself?”

She didn’t answer, and that was an answer in itself.

“It won’t always be this way. I know it’s hard for you to imagine a life without Sandstorm, but we will stop them. Before they manage to pull off phase two.”

“Then we all live happily ever after?” Jane asked wryly.

He thought about lying to her, but neither of them would be fooled. “Then we move on to a case that’s a little less personal, and try to pick up the pieces of our lives.”

“Sounds good.” She began to sit up. “But until then…”

Weller sat up with her, taking both of her hands in his. “Stay here tonight. Leave your pager on the nightstand. If Sandstorm contact you, I promise I’ll drive you back to your safehouse right away. But if they don’t, you get breakfast in bed.”

Jane glanced towards the door, then back at him. “I don’t know, Kurt…”

If not for the subtle longing he saw in her eyes, he would have let her go. But she wanted to stay, so he was determined to persuade her. “I don’t care about your nightmares. If I need more sleep, I’ll nap during the day.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over her forehead, willing her to give in. “Stay with me.”

After another long moment’s hesitation, Jane nodded, her eyes closed. “Okay.”

Kurt gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Let me grab you a spare toothbrush.”


	45. Taking Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wakes Jane in the night to prevent her getting nightmares. And to give her orgasms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally had Jane tell Kurt that she loves him at the end of this chapter, but I've decided to move that to later in the fic. Sorry for any confusion!

Kurt’s arm was almost asleep, but he didn’t care. Jane was in his bed, under the covers and cocooned within his embrace, sleeping off the exhaustion of the day. He was a little sleepy, a little uncomfortable, but not enough that he wanted to risk waking her by pulling his arm out from under her.

If he’d ever been this content before, he couldn’t remember when.

They’d been curled up together with the bedside lamp on, talking for a while before falling into comfortable silence. Jane had fallen asleep before Kurt could turn out the light, and he’d memorised her features, so unguarded now. This moment was such a contrast to the last time they’d shared a bed, back in Kalina’s motel room, when her face had been mottled with bruises and her forehead creased with pain even in her sleep.

Things were so different now. Jane was still struggling, but she could smile again. She could look at him without distrust or guilt being visible on her face. She could move without pain.

And he had forgiven her. Seeing how hard she was working to solve the tattoo cases, to right wrongs and to gather intel on her terrorist family’s plans, had melted the last of the ice that had frozen his heart the night he’d found Taylor’s body. She wasn’t who he’d thought she was, and she’d made mistakes, but she was herself. Jane. The woman he loved.

The conversation they’d had earlier, where she’d apologised for using him for sex without considering how he felt, gave him hope that soon she’d be ready to hear how much he cared. He didn’t want to pressure her into pretending she felt more than she did, or to leap into anything too serious, too soon. It would be a huge weight off his mind if she agreed to see no one else while they were doing…whatever this was that they were doing.

Jane sighed and turned over in her sleep, and he took the opportunity to extricate his arm from under her. It immediately began to tingle as blood flow was restored to the limb, and he wriggled his fingers to speed up the process.

She’d been asleep for about an hour, and he was pretty sure she’d have a nightmare coming on soon. More than anything, he wished he could take them away. She didn’t deserve to keep suffering at Keaton’s hands, night after night in her dreams.

Even worse had been her revelation that Kurt also featured in her nightmares. He’d been so selfish the night he’d found out Jane wasn’t Taylor. If he’d been thinking straight, he would have realised that she had no experience with rejection the way most people did. Rejection started at a young age, and the mind built up a callus to protect itself from hurt and betrayal as time went on. Kurt was no psychologist, but it seemed as though Jane had been hit so hard by his actions because that callus had been stripped away by the ZIP, and she’d had less than a year to build up a new resistance to rejection.

On top of that, he’d been an unreasonable asshole. It was a miracle she was even willing to speak to him now, let alone share his bed.

Pushing away the darker thoughts, Kurt pressed his nose against Jane’s hair, pressing closer against her back. The past was the past, and she was here with him now. He could work on proving to her every day that he would never hurt her like that again.

He must have fallen asleep for a while, but when he woke up, Jane still hadn’t stirred. It had been a couple of months since he’d last been in a position to rouse her from her nightmares; maybe they came less frequently now.

Or maybe one was on the way.

It was the weekend and they could sleep late. Maybe if he woke her with positive stimuli before a nightmare took hold of her, when she fell asleep again she’d be too tired to dream.

 _Sure, Weller,_ he told himself, not buying his own bullshit for a second. _That’s the only reason you’re thinking of waking Jane up._

* * *

Jane was warm, sleepy and safe, drifting on the edge of consciousness. A comforting, familiar scent surrounded her, though that same scent also gave her a distant spark of arousal.

Someone else was with her, a solid presence against her back. His body was warmer than hers, and she burrowed back against it, smiling a little when his arm tightened around her and pulled her more securely against him.

Light, repetitive touches against the back of her neck made her skin tingle. His hand rested between her breasts, over her heart, his thumb stroking languidly back and forth.

 _My starting point._ Why did that seem familiar? She was too sleepy to analyse it.

The warmth at her back withdrew a short distance, and his kisses moved lower, beginning to travel down her spine. More tingles, flowing down her nerve endings and collecting low in her belly. She… _wanted._ Wanted him.

She rolled onto her stomach, granting him easier access as the kisses brushed lower. They tickled, the slightly scratchy roughness of his stubble giving way to warm touches. She tilted her hips down into the mattress, then back again, seeking…something. His kisses didn’t go down far enough, reversing course to travel back up towards her neck again.

Jane gave a soft whimper, encouragement and frustration rolled into one needy sound. He stroked down over her ass to the backs of her thighs, his fingers following the patterns of the tattoos there, and she spread her legs apart in invitation without turning over. He ran his fingers up one of her inner thighs, down the other, still kissing her back and shoulders.

After an eternity of teasing, he finally slid his fingers between her legs, exploring, seeking out her clit. Even then, his touch wasn’t enough, too slow and light to do more than frustrate her. Her skin was sensitised, anticipating, her pulse beating right where she wanted his attention most.

“More,” she murmured, not sure whether it was a demand or a plea.

He put his hand on her hip, nudging a suggestion, and she gladly turned onto her back.

“Jane…”

She smiled at the familiar voice. “Mmmm…”

He laughed softly against her ear, stroking a path up and down from just below her breasts to her lower abdomen. “Are you even awake?”

“Mmm-hmm…” He needed to talk less and touch her more.

“Prove it. Kiss me.”

Kisses were exactly what she wanted. She reached out for him, eyes still closed, and found the slope of his shoulder. From there, she explored up to the back of his neck and pulled him down to her.

His kiss was slow but heated, his tongue stroking across hers, then withdrawing, making her chase him. When he moved out of range, she finally opened her eyes to glare at him. “You’re teasing me.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” Amused, Kurt brushed her hair back from her face. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you while you were sleeping.”

“Take advantage now. I want you to.” She pulled him into another kiss, and he gave a startled laugh against her lips before succumbing to her request.

“Are you sure?” he asked, when he lifted his head again. “Because I want to do this my way…”

His way had been more than satisfactory earlier. She smiled up at him. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just lie there and feel it.”

Jane shivered as he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. She’d never realised that part of her body was so sensitive. He continued a trail of soft kisses farther up her arm, teasing the inside of her elbow joint with his tongue for similar results. His eyes were closed; he was completely focused on his task, and that was almost as erotic as what he was actually doing.

He lingered at her shoulder for a moment, then kissed over her collar bone and down to her breast, cupping it with one hand and using his talented tongue to coax the nipple into hardness. Jane arched up into the touch, as he drew the sensitive peak into his mouth and bit down gently.

Everything he did sent more frissons of lust down to her clit. By the time he’d given her other breast as much tantalising attention as the first, her hips were shifting of their own accord, her body desperate for friction.

Kurt kissed the burning rose tattoo above her navel, then defied her expectations, tracing his lips up, around and down the body of the snake that curved over her left breast and down her side. When he reached its tail and began tracing his tongue over the coliseum pillars at the lowest point of her abdomen, Jane’s heart skipped with anticipation.

The bastard skipped down her hipbone to the top of her leg, completely bypassing where she needed to feel him. Jane covered her face with her hands, gasping with frustration. “Kurt…”

His stubble against her inner thighs felt amazing, but not as good as his breath on her clit as he laughed. Blue eyes shining with amusement in the lamplight, he said, “I did warn you this was gonna be my way.”

Consigning herself to more unbearable teasing, Jane raised her head off the pillow and grinned down at him. “Bring it, Weller.”

Kurt pressed a quick kiss to her clit, then told her, “Your safeword is ‘mercy’.”

“Safeword? Why do I need a safeword?” She’d been trained in torture resistance; she was pretty sure she could withstand a little sexual torment.

Weller nuzzled the inside of one of her thighs, watching her with that same playful sparkle in his gaze. “Because in a while, you’re going to start telling me, ‘no more, stop, I can’t take any more’ and I’m going to ignore you.”

A quiver of expectancy ran through her at his words. “You’re pretty confident for a guy who’s not doing anything,” she told him. “Twenty dollars says I don’t beg at all.”

His eyebrow rose, and he gave her a look that was sexy and mischievous and determined all at once. “Challenge accepted.”

_Oh, this man…_

* * *

Was this her sixth orgasm, or her seventh? Maybe it was still her first, going on and on and on and…

“Oh, fuck, no, no more…”

She could swear he _laughed_ against her clit, and that did nothing to bring her down from her high. Overheated, dry-mouthed from gasping, with every muscle in her body turned to jelly, Jane groaned as she realised she’d done exactly what she’d vowed she wouldn’t.

“That wasn’t begging.”

Weller lifted his head from between her legs, his fingers—she’d lost track of how many—still buried inside her, stroking over her sweet spot. “Uh-huh. Remember, your safeword is ‘mercy’.”

Before she could formulate an intelligent argument, he went right back to work, his tongue stroking up one side of her clit with a confidence born of seven orgasms of practice. He knew exactly what he was doing now, where every one of her triggers was, and _oh my God oh my God_ —

She was so tired, her body completely worn out by the tension and release that alternately wracked her body. It felt so mind-blowingly wonderful, but she couldn’t keep this up…could she?

Jane reached down a shaking hand to his head, not sure if she was guiding him or pushing him away. Either way, it made no difference. She was panting for breath, her head tossing on the pillow, as she vocalised her frustration through moans that did nothing to relieve her tension. “Oh, God… oh, please, Kurt…”

Was she asking him to stop, or to continue? She didn’t even know. Her mind was a muddled mess, her composure a distant dream, and as his devious tongue curved over her clit just right, she grabbed the bedcovers for purchase, needing something to hold on to as her world tilted yet again.

Almost sobbing with exhausted, over-satisfied, under-fulfilled, contradictory pleasure, she wrestled with the idea of giving in. It reminded her of the time she’d been ordered to give up and ring the bell by the drill sergeant during her time in the military—only this time she really was done in, unable to go any further.

Tears in her eyes, she looked down to find him watching her carefully, even though he was still thoroughly worshipping her body. As if he knew she was struggling with her own stubborn streak. Ready to end this ecstatic, terrible torment the second he judged she couldn’t take it.

The knowledge that he cared, truly cared about more than just scoring points to brag about later… That, more than anything his mouth and fingers were doing, was enough to tip her into another shuddering, half-screaming orgasm, better than all the others. A slow-breaking, intense wave that just got more and more intense when she expected it to subside.

It took her a few moments afterward to remember how to speak, her toes still curled and her whole body tingling. But finally, she managed. “Mercy. I need… I need to hold you. Please?”

Kurt slowly withdrew his fingers as she floated on the residual tremors of her climax, but instead of coming back up to lie with her, he kissed her stomach. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

He was as good as his word, returning a minute later with the most welcome object he could offer her at that moment—a glass of water. She’d been panting and gasping for so long, her mouth and throat were parched. Jane took the water from him with an unsteady hand, and drank it all down with only one small pause to breathe.

“Thank you so much,” she said, as he took the empty glass and put it on the nightstand. “I really needed that.”

Kurt drew her into his embrace, and she clung tightly to him, her ear over his beating heart, one leg over his. He was still aroused, and she knew she had done nothing but take pleasure from him with nothing in return, but she was so wrung out, physically and mentally, that she was next to useless.

He’d knocked down all her walls, climax by climax, reducing her ability to guard her emotions to nothing. It wasn’t the physical sensations that had done it, but his selflessness, his concern for her limits, even that damn glass of water. And now he was just holding her the way she’d asked, not insisting that she get him off, just stroking her hair and letting her process.

She tightened her arm around him as emotion swelled in her chest, warmth and intensity and…

_To own the feeling, you have to name it, Jane._

But if she named it, she had to own it. To deal with it. And she wasn't ready, not yet.

Was it even real? How would she know if it wasn’t? All she could say for sure was that she’d never felt this way about Oscar, and he was the only other romantic experience she had to compare this to.

She shook herself out of her introspection and leaned in to kiss him again. She’d taken a huge step already tonight, acknowledging that she’d hurt him by using him for sex. And she hadn’t fled from his bed; that was a milestone, too. Anything else would be rushing things.


	46. Someone Else's Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast in bed, a morning at the gym and a phone call with Kalina. Unashamed fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: the end of chapter 45 has been slightly revised to take back Jane's declaration of love. Other than that, nothing has changed. :)

Jane woke up to the scent of frying bacon. She stretched and turned over, wondering for a moment why the morning sunlight in her room was coming from a different direction than usual. Then she remembered.

She smiled up at Kurt’s ceiling, feeling as if she’d somehow stepped into someone else’s life, but not particularly caring. If their life was this good, she was never going back to her own.

After a quick visit to the bathroom, she wrapped Kurt’s discarded shirt around her and headed out to find him. As she’d expected, he was in the kitchen, frying up bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and French toast.

“Are we expecting company for breakfast, or are we supposed to eat all that ourselves?” Not wanting to startle him when he was handling a skillet of hot oil, she stopped at the edge of the kitchen to watch him.

Kurt smiled over at her. “You know, it’s not breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed.”

Unable to resist, she came over and kissed him on the cheek. He turned his head to capture her lips, snaking an arm around her waist.

“You’re gonna burn it.”

“I can multitask.”

Jane allowed herself to remain in his embrace for a few seconds longer before twisting out of his reach. “Okay, I’ll be in bed.”

He brought in a tray of food a couple of minutes later, and Jane’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. “I don’t remember a lot of my mornings, but I think this may be the greatest morning of my life.”

Kurt grinned and transferred the tray onto her lap. “It’s a start.”

They ate with their legs touching, in constant contact despite their focus on their food. Kurt kept glancing over at her, and finally she asked, “What?”

“You look confused by something.”

Jane speared her last piece of bacon thoughtfully. “I guess I’m just not used to all this. Waking up with someone. Having them take care of me.”

Kurt leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You don’t remember ever having breakfast in bed before?”

Jane shook her head slowly. “Does eating cold, leftover Chinese food while sitting on a pool table in a warehouse count?”

“Definitely not.” He ate a couple of mouthfuls before asking, “That was with Oscar, then?”

Jane nodded, regretting having mentioned anything that linked back to him.

Kurt didn’t look too bothered, though. “And here I was worried about not being able to measure up.”

For a moment, she was surprised that he’d have that kind of insecurity. Then she realised it was no different from the way she’d compared herself to Allie last year. When she’d realised they were dating, she’d spent a while berating herself for imagining Kurt would ever want to be with her when he could have someone as cute and capable as Allie.

If she was being honest with herself, she kind of still thought that.

“Jane? Where did you just go?” Kurt slid his hand over her arm.

She looked down at her plate, a little embarrassed. “Just comparing myself to your ex-girlfriend.” Then, realising she sounded like she thought she was the _current_ girlfriend, she added hastily, “Not that we’re as committed as you and Allie were, or anything…”

“Not yet. But only because I was working my way around to bringing it up.”

Jane laid her knife and fork down carefully. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning that I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

When she looked into his face, she thought she saw a trace of nervousness in his expression. The idea that there could ever be anyone else while he was around was so ridiculous that she wanted to laugh, but he was serious enough that she suppressed it.

“That works both ways, right?” she asked, taking his hand and laying a gentle kiss over his knuckles. “No sharing you either?”

“Just us.”

Jane looked up, wondering if he remembered that was what she’d said to him the night she’d kissed him for the first time.

Kurt smiled, a hint of sadness to it. “A lot’s happened since then, huh?”

“I wish I could go back,” Jane confessed. “While I was at the black site, I thought about that night so much. I was so happy walking back from your place, before Carter snatched me off the street. And then everything started to go to hell, and that night, outside your place, kissing you… If I could rewind time, but keep all the knowledge I have now… That was the last place everything was simple.”

“No idea who’d put all those tattoos on you, who’d attacked you in your safehouse, who left you with no memories in Times Square...but things were simple?” Kurt took her breakfast tray from off her lap, putting it on the floor next to his.

“Relatively speaking.” Jane snuggled into the crook of his arm, closing her eyes.

“Well, Sandstorm didn’t call you in overnight, so let’s assume they might not contact you until later. What do you want to do today?”

“Go jogging, then maybe a little weight training,” Jane said promptly. “I wasn’t kidding yesterday when I said my arms need some serious work. But…we could stay in bed for a little while first.”

“Yeah, I think we could manage that.” Kurt tilted her head up for a kiss, and Jane quickly lost track of her plans for later.

* * *

Kurt spent the first part of his Saturday afternoon straightening up the apartment, his military training demanding that he complete the housework before he could relax. He and Jane had hit the gym a couple of blocks over from his place, and he’d seen the disappointment in her eyes when he’d finished up his workout and told her that he was ready to leave. Clearly, she’d wanted to train a little harder. He’d told her to come by his place when she was done, kissing her before he left—just in case the four guys ogling her from various parts of the gym got any ideas about hitting on her.

Not that Jane would have any trouble sending any of them on their way. Even deconditioned, she could wipe the floor with all four of them at once.

He settled onto the couch with the book he was in the middle of reading, losing himself for an hour in a fictional military campaign and the covert team struggling to survive in enemy territory. When most of the team was killed by a drone strike, he set the book aside, frowning as he thought of Jane’s Orion team.

The satellite photograph in Mayfair’s Orion files had shown Jane splayed out on the ground, unconscious. Why hadn’t the drone made certain of her death with a second bomb? There were no serious injuries visible in that photograph, and the drone’s video feed likely hadn’t picked up any, either.

Was it possible that the drone operator had spared her on purpose? That someone had wanted Orion disbanded, but Jane—Remi—alive?

Kurt filed away the thought for later as Jane buzzed up to the apartment. When she got to his door, she looked weary, but satisfied, her hair damp from her post-workout shower.

“All good?” he asked, meeting her with a kiss of greeting.

“Getting there,” she said, closing the door behind her. “By the way, your gym is full of creeps.”

“Did they bother you?” Even knowing she was fully capable of brushing off unwanted attention, he still had to suppress a surge of territorial protectiveness.

“Only one of them. He saw you kiss me goodbye, and he still tried it. The tattoos always give them a good opening line.” She rolled her eyes. “I offered to give him a temporary tattoo on his face, with my fist. He backed off.”

They took cups of coffee out onto the balcony to watch the city go by. Jane kept checking her Sandstorm pager, and it began to dawn on Kurt just how much she felt like a puppet on their strings. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head as she spoke, contradicting herself. “I just…never really feel at ease on a weekend. Not just because of this,”—she indicated the pager—“but because I think I’ve always been ready to get up and go. I can’t imagine life was ever that relaxing at the orphanage, and Shepherd’s ex-military, so I’m guessing she was as strict when I was growing up as she is now.”

“Sounds rough.”

Jane shrugged. “At least I don’t remember much of it. It’s instinctive, though. That first weekend after I came out of the bag, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Two whole days of just…nothing. I don’t know what I would have done if you guys hadn’t let me out in the field with you. I just had no purpose beyond figuring out what had happened to me.”

Kurt took her hand, wishing he’d made more of an effort that first week to check on her. “And now?”

“Now I have a purpose.” Her eyes darkened, her jaw setting with determination. “Take down Shepherd and earn my immunity. I just want to be in control of my own life.”

“Do you feel like I’m controlling you?” Maybe it was paranoid, but he needed to check.

“A little. But you’re my boss and one of my handlers, so that comes with the territory.” She smiled into her coffee cup. “And it’s not like I’m shy about questioning my orders, if I don’t agree with them.”

Her cell phone rang, startling them both. It wasn’t likely to be Sandstorm, since Roman communicated with her via pager, but Jane remained tense until she checked the caller ID. “It’s Kalina.”

“Say hi for me.” After kissing the top of her head, Kurt took their empty coffee cups back inside. As he rinsed them out, he could faintly hear Jane conversing in Russian, her voice light. Kurt smiled to himself when he heard her laughing; it was a sound he too rarely heard these days.

Kalina’s husband had been arrested earlier in the week for tax fraud and involvement in dog fights. The local LEOs in Springfield had kept Kurt in the loop, grateful for the tip. Kalina had been reluctant to press charges on her husband for domestic abuse, fearing his retribution, but even without that, he was likely to face a couple of years in prison.

After a few minutes, she came inside and offered him the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

Surprised, Kurt took the phone. “Kalina, hey.”

“Hi, Kurt. I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Sam’s hearing was yesterday and he was denied bail, so… I think I’m safe. For now.”

“That’s great news. Are you running the motel alone now?”

“I have a friend helping out. Sam didn’t like her coming over, but now that’s not a problem.”

She sounded so cheerful that Kurt couldn’t help but smile as well. “Well, if you can afford to close up for a week sometime, come over and visit us. I get the feeling you could use a vacation.”

“I will definitely consider it.” She paused, then asked, “Is Jane doing all right? She says she’s healed up now, but I think she doesn’t want me to worry too much.”

Kurt looked out onto the balcony, where Jane was leaning against the railing, taking in the view. “She’s getting there. Her wounds have healed, but she has nightmares.”

“Oh, poor Jane,” Kalina said sadly. “And you? Are you all right?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Well, you and Jane _are_ spending more time together…” she teased.

Kurt smiled. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be okay.”

They chatted for a couple of minutes more before hanging up. Kurt returned Jane’s phone to her, then slid his arms around her waist from behind.

“She seems happy.”

Jane leaned back against him. “You really made a difference to her life. Thank you, Kurt.”

“She really made a difference to mine. It was the least I could do.”

Jane turned in his arms to gaze up at him. “I’m glad she called you that night.”

In reply, he gave her a gentle kiss and changed the subject. “So, what do you want to do now? Run a marathon? Swim across the Hudson?”

“Watch a movie? I still have a lifetime of pop culture to catch up on. Just nothing with terrorists. Or torture. Or amnesia.”

Kurt thought for a moment. “Hmmm… You remember seeing _The Lion King_?”


	47. Past and Future Deaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While driving Jane to Cade's execution, Roman fills in some more of her past.

Saturday evening saw Jane in Roman’s car with a bag over her head. She always tried to memorise the route, and each time, he changed it, twisting and turning until she was hopelessly lost.

A while into the journey, Roman said, “This is your heads-up. Shepherd expects you to kill Cade tonight.”

Jane tried to keep relaxed, as though the idea didn’t bother her. _Remi would want Cade to die for what he did to Oscar. And for betraying the cause. Remember that._

“After what happened with Kantor, I thought I’d give you a little advance warning, just in case you get squeamish again.”

“Are we going to talk about this with a bag on my head?” Jane demanded.

“Yeah. Keep it on.”

Sighing, Jane folded her arms, trying to project confidence and irritation. “Cade killed Oscar. He deserves to die.”

“But can you pull the trigger? ’Cause if not, Shepherd will likely kill you.” He didn’t sound too distressed by the prospect, but Jane knew his eyes would be distressed, his body language agitated, even if his voice was calm.

“Are we sure there’s no more information we can get from him?” Jane asked, inwardly cringing as she did so. Suggesting he be kept alive for further torture made her feel like Keaton—but it was better Cade was tortured and alive than dead.

“Last time I spoke to Oscar, some of his stuff was missing from his base in the city, but he couldn’t remember exactly what. We’re pretty sure Cade’s responsible. We think he’s been informing on us, but he won’t admit it. If he has been, we need to know which agency, who his contact is and what he gave them.”

“Let me take a run at him. If he doesn’t tell his executioner, he won’t tell anyone.” Jane tried to keep the emotion from her voice.

“And if he doesn’t tell you, you’ll kill him?”

“He needs to pay for what he did.”

They drove on in silence. Jane tried not to fidget or let the way she moved betray her anxiety, but her mind was in turmoil. How was she going to maintain her cover without killing Cade?

Nas would tell her to take the shot, and be furious with her if she didn’t. Roman was suspicious, but he was her brother. He’d cover for her for a while yet, she instinctively knew it. Shepherd would be far less forgiving. Daughter or not, Jane got the feeling she’d be expendable the moment her allegiance was in question.

Cade was a terrorist, and he’d tried to kill her before, but he’d been trying to stop Sandstorm’s plans in the process. Maybe he was even Nas’ informant inside Sandstorm, the one who’d told Nas that Jane was due to be dropped off in Times Square. In that case, he was no different than Jane herself—trying to use his connections to do good.

Not only that, but Jane owed him. Sure, she hadn’t realised he was still alive when she’d framed him for Oscar’s death, by spray-painting ‘for Marcos’ on the side of Oscar’s truck. But from what she knew, Oscar had been well-liked within Sandstorm. Cade had probably suffered a lot at the hands of his torturers because of her actions. She wanted to make amends for that, if she could.

So, if she couldn’t kill him, how the hell could she get him out without blowing her cover? She’d have to improvise.

“Tell me more about Cade,” she said. “I only have flashes of memory, of us drinking together in the same place where we had Oscar’s wake. And when he went rogue and tried to kill me nearly a year ago, he said he wanted me dead because of what Oscar did to Markos. What did he do? Oscar wouldn’t tell me.”

That last part was a lie. Oscar had told her he’d been the one who killed Markos on the day she’d killed him. But Roman couldn’t know that.

“Oscar was the one who killed Markos, on Shepherd’s orders. You remember Markos, right? Beard? Died on the floor of your first safehouse after attacking you?”

“Yeah. I remembered being on an outdoor shooting range with him when I saw him. Wait, Oscar killed him? Why?”

“Chao, the guy who tried to blow up the Statue of Liberty right after you got to the FBI. He was supposed to die in that attack, but the FBI didn’t kill him, so Markos had to take care of it in the hospital. But he was caught on CCTV.”

“Yeah, I remember. Wearing a surgical mask. No one at the hospital could ID him, and neither could the FBI.”

“Doesn’t matter. Shepherd ordered him dead for screwing up. He ran. Shepherd sent Oscar after him, and Oscar killed him right before he could tell you who we all were. He always did have a little bit of a crush on you, though Cade was the real love of his life.”

Jane closed her eyes in sympathy for both Cade and Markos. They’d just been trying to do the right thing. If Cade _had_ been informing on Sandstorm, he and Markos must have been having second thoughts for a while.

“So what else can you tell me about Cade? How close was I to him? Any weak spots I can lean on?”

“You and Cade spent nearly two months in Plovdiv, Bulgaria together just after you got back from Afghanistan. Shepherd had you cultivating a contact there.”

Jane frowned, trying to remember, but came up blank. She’d have to look at some pictures of Plovdiv on the internet later and see if they triggered any memories. “Is that why I speak Bulgarian? Did I learn it out there?”

“Yeah, you’ve always been good at picking that stuff up on the fly. Used to drive me crazy when we were kids. You and Shepherd would have entire conversations in a language you’d only just started studying, and I’d be struggling to keep up.”

“Sounds like I made your childhood kind of hard sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I got my own back when you got your first boyfriend in high school. You used to sneak out to see him, and I used to tell Shepherd.”

Jane laughed despite her worries about Cade. “You little brat. What was my boyfriend’s name?”

“Luis.”

A memory flashed into Jane’s mind— _a disapproving Hispanic woman in her late thirties standing in a doorway, watching Remi and a teenage boy run down the street, hand in hand. “Luis! Get back here right now!_ Luis! _”_

Jane shook her head, frowning. “Did…his mom hate me or something? I just remembered a woman…”

“He lived with his aunt. And yeah, she hated you. Her Luis was supposed to be with a good Catholic girl. Preferably Hispanic, like them.” Roman paused, then casually asked, “Remember anything else from back then?”

Jane searched her memory, but came up with nothing. “No. Should I?”

“No, I was just curious.”

Jane scowled in his direction—not that he could see it. “I have a bag on my head, and I can still tell you’re lyi—”

Another memory distracted her. _She was wearing black, surrounded by a crowd of mourners, watching a coffin being lowered into the dirt. A short distance away, the same woman—Luis’ aunt—wept uncontrollably as the man next to her tried to comfort her._

“What?” Roman asked.

“He died, didn’t he?” Jane could barely remember the boy, but she couldn’t help but feel a pang of loss, regardless. _Poor Remi._

“Yeah. He stole his brother’s motorcycle to ride over and see you one night. Not sure what happened exactly, but he came off the road. No one saw it happen, and by the time someone stopped to check on him, he was already gone.”

“That’s awful. How old was he?”

“Seventeen, I think.”

Jane slid her hand up under the bag to wearily rub her eyes. “Did anything _good_ ever happen to us as kids?”

“After the orphanage, everything about living with Shepherd seemed good, for a while.” The car made a final turn, then the engine shut off. “We’re here. You can take off the bag.”


	48. Subterfuge and Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Cade plot his escape in an unconventional way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to get around to posting, and my replies to comments are behind! I've been kind of scatterbrained recently. I'll try to get back on track soon!

The hardest part of knowing she was going to have to do something about Cade was acting as though she didn't know. She ate dinner with Shepherd and Roman, home-cooked and surprisingly tasty. She'd never figured Shepherd for the cooking type, but apparently she'd taken cooking classes shortly after adopting Roman and Remi—her one concession to traditional mothering.

"Did I used to cook? Before my memory was wiped? Because I don't, now. Like, at all."

Roman and Shepherd exchanged amused looks.

"You…tried," Shepherd said. "I taught both of you as you were growing up. Roman took to it like a duck to water, but you… You were less adept."

Jane smiled at Roman. "See? There _were_ things you could do better than me when we were kids."

Roman squirmed a little, as if uncomfortable with the compliment.

"It's nice to see you two getting along so well. You used to argue a lot more than you seem to now." Shepherd's voice was relaxed, but she was watching Jane like a hawk observing a rabbit.

"I guess it's easier to get along if you don't remember all the past arguments," Jane said, setting down her knife and fork on her clean plate.

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be back to your usual bitchy self once you remember some more stuff," Roman teased.

Jane wrinkled her nose at him and said nothing.

"Well, if you're done eating, we have business to take care of." Shepherd stood up, and the others followed suit. "Remi, we're done with Cade. I thought you'd appreciate being the one to dispose of him, for Oscar's sake."

Jane set her jaw and nodded. "I'll take care of it. Did he admit to it? Killing Oscar?"

Shepherd sighed. "No. He didn't admit to informing on us, either, but Oscar told us someone stole information from a couple of his stashes. Given our doubts about Cade's stability even before your memory was wiped, it makes the most sense that he did it. Homeland Security or the NSA could be looking into us as we speak, and despite all our contacts, we have no idea what they might know."

"I'll take a final run at him. He might be a little more forthcoming when he realises he's of no more use to us." She looked from Shepherd to Roman and back. "Do you have a gun I can use? Using an FBI sidearm doesn't seem to be the best idea."

Roman crossed to the bookcase, opened a false book and pulled out a handgun. "Should already be loaded."

Jane clicked off the safety and checked—not because she wanted to use a bullet, but because she figured that Remi would have done so. "All set." She hesitated. "How did he kill Oscar? I… When you first told me, I couldn't process it. I didn't want to ask. But now…maybe it should be an eye for an eye. Did he shoot him? Stab him?"

Shepherd put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. It took everything Jane had not to recoil from her mother's touch.

"His body was burned, Remi. But there was the remains of a metal implement with him. A scythe or a sickle; something like that. We don't know if he was still alive when he caught fire."

Jane swallowed hard, recalling Mayfair's fear, anger and betrayed look as she'd bled out on the floor of the warehouse. She couldn't cry for Oscar, but Mayfair…

The tears in her eyes were genuine as she let Shepherd pull her into an embrace meant to comfort her.

"Don't think we have any farming tools lying around, but we've got knives aplenty," Roman offered, as casually as if he were offering to fix her a drink.

"And gasoline?" Jane drew back from Shepherd and wiped her eyes. "Matches?"

"I'll have to look into clearing a space for him to burn. Somewhere that he can't set fire to anything else. Give me a little time." Her brother touched her arm and departed.

Shepherd gestured to the stairs. "Up here."

Feeling a little sick, Jane followed her mother upstairs. _What kind of screwed-up family am I a part of, that this is a normal request that can be accommodated so easily?_

"I know how much you loved Oscar, but I don't know how well you'd gotten to know him again after the ZIP," Shepherd said.

"We were…involved." _Please don't make me tell you how involved._

"That cloud of gloom _did_ seem to disappear from around him after the first couple of months. I figured you'd started finding your way back to him." Shepherd sighed. "I'm so sorry things had to end the way they did."

"Me, too." At least that wasn't a lie. The way her relationship with Oscar had ended couldn't have been much worse.

"Do you want me to sit in while you interrogate Cade?" Shepherd asked.

"No. I don't want you to see me like this," Jane said, hoping that wouldn't raise any red flags.

Shepherd nodded and gave her a final hug, then pulled a military knife from a sheath in her boot. "Use this to interrogate him, if you need to. He's pretty banged up, so most likely you won't need to cause any new wounds. I'll be downstairs. Take your time and do what you need to do."

"Thank you," Jane whispered, her stomach churning. No wonder Remi had turned out to be monstrous with a mother like this.

Shepherd pressed a key into her other hand, indicated the door, then turned to leave.

_This plan won't work unless you lay the groundwork now. Do it!_

"Shepherd?" Jane said, hating how weak she sounded. Knowing her mother was judging every word she spoke, and how she spoke it.

Shepherd turned back, her concern deepening at whatever she saw, but her guard rising, too. "What's wrong, Remi?"

"How bad does he look? My PTSD… Seeing someone who's been tortured could be a trigger."

Shepherd nodded, looking unsurprised, and the chill in Jane's body deepened.

"You're probably right. But you don't remember your last bout of PTSD therapy, do you? Exposure to the things you fear helps to desensitise you. I think this will be beneficial for you in the long run. Anticipate the trigger and breathe through it. It's the only way to fight this weakness and regain your strength."

She gave Jane a smile that was somehow encouraging, but also made it clear that no argument would sway her.

"Right," Jane said, and cast aside the moment of vulnerability that she'd only been half-faking. Clearly, PTSD was something Shepherd had no personal experience with, and God forbid that it took more than determination and a positive attitude to put aside. "I'll deal with it."

"I know you will." With a final nod, Shepherd turned and walked away.

Jane stood outside the door for a second, staring down at the knife and key. Other parents gave their blessings for their children to get married. Shepherd gave a blessing for her to violently avenge her fiancé's murder. As for her dismissal of her PTSD concerns, was this a test of Jane's mettle and loyalty, or had Remi suffered this kind of 'therapy' after returning from Afghanistan? It was too horrifying to contemplate.

More than anything, Jane wished she could go back to this morning at Kurt's apartment, when everything had been so perfect.

Taking a deep breath to try to quell her nausea, she fitted the key into the lock and turned it.

Cade raised his head wearily as she stepped into the room. The look of sullen blankness on his battered face slowly dropped away as he registered her identity, and raw, desperate fear replaced it.

"Remi. No, no, no, no—not you."

Jane shut the door behind her and surveyed the room. Everything looked normal—except for the torture victim bound to a sturdy chair in the centre of the room—but the room could be bugged. There could be a hidden camera. Shepherd and Roman could be watching and listening to every move she made.

This was the only way she could come up with, and it all hinged on the hope that no one else listening in spoke Bulgarian. And that Cade was fluent enough to understand her.

"Shut up," she said in English, crossing the room and grabbing a fistful of his lank, greasy hair. He stank, obviously having gone weeks without bathing, and her instinctive disgust at the way he smelled made it easier to act disdainful towards him.

It was that, or panic at how much he reminded her of her own situation a couple of months ago. She could already feel her chest tightening, her breathing becoming shallower. If she didn't keep herself on track, she could go into a full-on meltdown, and God knew what would happen to her then. At the very least, she would lose Shepherd's respect. Worst case scenario, she'd be too panicked to respond when she

Tilting back Cade's head at an awkward angle with one hand, she pressed the knife's blade to his carotid artery with the other, firmly enough to dent the skin but not quite enough to break it. "Listen to me. Today is the day you die, and I'll be the one to kill you, for Oscar's sake, but you have one last chance to aid our cause and help save your country. I want to know who you leaked information about us to, and what you told them. Do they know about phase two?"

"I already told Shepherd and Roman and everyone else! I didn't do any of this!"

"I don't remember much of my life anymore, but some of my memories have come back. Remember what happened to that guy in Plovdiv?" She switched to Bulgarian. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Now Cade looked mystified as well as terrified, slurring his speech slightly through his split lips. "Remi, I swear to god, I didn't kill Oscar. I wanted to, but I didn't—"

"Answer my question!" Jane demanded, still speaking Bulgarian. She kept her voice a low, angry snarl, for the benefit of anyone who could hear her tone, but not interpret her words. "I'm trying to save your life, but I need you to work with me. Can you understand me?"

Hope flashed in his eyes for a second, and she knew the second he shut it down, berating himself for falling for the enemy's tactics. It was all so familiar, but now the roles were reversed, and she had become Keaton.

She'd become Jake, her tormentor of so many months. There had been a time when she hadn't even known his full name, yet he'd been the centre of her dismal existence back then.

_Oh, God, please let this be a nightmare I can wake up from_. She shoved away thoughts of Keaton and concentrated on Cade, nudging the knife against his mottled skin as a warning for him to answer. She'd try just once more. "Can you understand me?"

"I understand your words, but I don't get why you want to help me. Don't you want to avenge Oscar?"

Jane exhaled hard, relieved. They could communicate without being understood—or so she hoped. Now she just had to get him on board with her plan.

"You didn't kill Oscar. I did. Now make sure you sound like you're arguing with me. I don't know if this room is bugged or if there are cameras, or not."

Comprehension dawned subtly on his face, but then he scowled and tried wrenching at his bonds, playing into their act. "You're not really Remi anymore, are you? That stuff they injected you with changed you. Shit, you killed your own fiancé? The old Remi would sooner kill herself."

_Well, at least we're on the same page there. I'm not Remi, and I never want to go back to being her._

"I'm sorry I have to hurt you, but if they are watching, I need them to believe this is real." Jane released his hair, stepped back and slapped him hard across the face.

Cade reeled from the blow, but his expression was almost amused as he recovered. "Compared to everything Shepherd and her crew have done to me, that's nothing. Did you have to frame me for Oscar's murder, though?"

"Oscar told me you were dead. I thought I was pinning it on someone they'd never be able to catch."

Jane paced around Cade's chair, checking out his bonds as she imitated one of Keaton's intimidation techniques. Very high quality rope—nothing they'd believe Cade had managed to fray over time with his struggles. These were no amateurs. And the chair looked to be hardy, too—he wouldn't be able to destroy it to get free, the way Jane had when Oscar had tied herup in that barn.

The situation wasn't ideal, but she'd suspected something like this. It was why she'd requested to set Cade on fire—so that they'd have to untie him to move him.

If she failed to break him out of here, he was going to die in excruciating pain, way worse than a merciful bullet to the head.

Still in an angry tone, she said, "You have two options here. I don't know how bad your injuries are under your clothes, so only you can decide. I've told Shepherd and Roman I want to kill you the way Oscar died—stabbed in the stomach and then set on fire. We'll have to move you outside to burn you, which means we can make your bonds loose enough for you to escape. I need you to make it look as though you got the better of me, so I don't blow my cover. But if you don't manage to get out of here alone, it's probably not going to be a quick death."

Fear surfaced on his face again, but also determination. "Try to escape on the way outside. Okay. What's the other option?"

Jane drew the gun from her waistband and pressed it against his forehead. Cade recoiled as far as he was able, squeezing his eyes shut as she told him, "The other option is that I shoot you in the head right now—make it quick, so you don't suffer. If I were in your shoes, I'd want to at least try to escape, but I can't choose for you."

"Remi, this really isn't your best plan," he muttered.

Jane disengaged the safety, making it seem as though she was losing patience and control. His facial wounds were hard to look at, especially since she knew he must be just as bad, or worse, under his clothing, but she made herself yell at him. "I'm doing the best I can with what I have, which is practically nothing. I could have just walked in here and shot you, but I'm at least willing to try this. What do you want to do, Cade?"

He swallowed hard, staying silent for a few seconds of internal debate. "I think I can make it. They kept fixing me up so they could break me down again. My arms are in pretty bad shape and I think my ribs are fractured, and I have a stomach wound too. But my legs aren't too bad anymore."

Jane lowered the gun and re-engaged the safety. After tucking the firearm back into her pants, she grabbed one of his shoulders and applied pressure to his bound arm, exaggerating the motion so that it looked more extreme than it was. Even so, Cade's reaction was an agonised groan that she knew she'd be hearing in her nightmares.

It took everything she had to keep her voice sneering and cold. "I'm sorry for this. I really am. I don't know how much time I have left, and if it sounds like I might be getting somewhere, it might buy us a little time."

Almost hyperventilating to deal with the pain, Cade took a few moments to respond. Finally, he managed to speak. "Tell me what you have planned. And if you really want to keep your cover intact, you'd better hurt me more than that. Did you forget I nearly killed Weller that time? I didn't particularly care if he died, you know."

Jane gritted her teeth and wrenched his arm again. His next words were lost in a scream.


	49. Genuine Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane does what she has to do, but suffers in the process.

_You are a monster. This is who you are. Why would Weller want to be anywhere near you now? Did you really think this morning was something you could have for good?_

Jane wiped blood off her hands with a rag on the table and tried to breathe.

She and Cade had a plan now. They'd switched back to speaking English and she'd played the role of torturer with grim determination, while he treated her exactly as he would have if she'd still been her pre-ZIP self. The only thing that stopped her from spiralling into a full-blown panic was the glimmer of hope in Cade's eyes. She couldn't fail him.

"You don't look so good, Remi." Cade's fake concern was slurred with pain, but still mocking. "I guess the daughter of Shepherd doesn't really live up to her reputation."

"You're lucky you're not going to live long enough to get post-traumatic stress, Cade." The edge to her voice wasn't faked.

"Oh, sure, lucky me. I get to die instead. Can't wait." He waited a beat, then added, "No, really. It's been over two months, right? Something like that? Not being in daily agony sounds great."

_I should have got him out faster. I knew they had him and I did nothing. I didn't even think about him. I was too wrapped up in my own issues._

_Was that how it was with the team, for me? And Kurt?_

Forcing her thoughts back to being Remi, she turned and gave him a cold stare. "You deserve it. For what you did to Oscar, you should suffer. He was the best of us and you—"

"No, Markos was the best of us. He made me whole again. He made one stupid mistake that didn't even lead to anything, and Oscar killed him for it. Sure, Shepherd gave the order, but he didn't even question it. Markos was his friend, and he just…went off and shot him. I don't know if he was trying to score points with the future mother-in-law, or whether he was just too chicken to question his orders."

_Oh, Oscar was scared of her_ , Jane thought. _I saw it in his eyes when he was preparing that syringe full of ZIP. But seriously? I don't blame him. Shepherd is terrifying._

"And you're not scared of Shepherd?" Jane folded her arms.

Cade rolled his eyes. "Clearly not anymore. What else can she do to me, besides put me out of my misery?"

A knock came at the door. When Jane opened it, Roman stood there. "Anything?"

"He's asking for death. As much as I don't want to give him what he wants, I think we're through. Any more is just a waste of everyone's time."

"We're almost through, but not quite." Roman gestured to Cade. "Ready to take him outside when you are."

Jane nodded. "I have a couple of last things I want to say to him, in private. I'll bring him out in a minute."

"That's good, Remi. I have a couple of things to say to you, too. Let's start with 'fuck you' and work up from there," Cade muttered.

Roman hesitated, searching Jane's face. "Are you okay?" he asked under his breath. "You look a little out of it."

"Roman, I am so far past okay, it's not even funny. But Shepherd thinks it's good exposure therapy for my PTSD, so I'm just doing what I have to do. Just let me get through this."

At the mention of Shepherd, something akin to pity flashed across her brother's face. "I'll be out here."

Jane closed the door in his face and returned to Cade. "It's now or never. Are you ready for this?" she asked in Bulgarian, making sure she sounded full of wrathful hatred, even as she prepared to help him.

"Whatever happens, it means a lot that you tried. And thank you. For taking care of Oscar." Cade replied in the same language, putting a sneer into his tone and matching it with his expression.

Jane reeled back as though what he'd said was devastating, and finally gave herself permission to feel true horror at what she'd spent the past thirty minutes doing. It didn't take more than just recalling the basement where she'd been tortured to send her anxiety from high to almost uncontrollable.

She just hoped she could do what she needed to do before she lost it.

Making no attempt to hide her discomfort, she stumbled over to the window. The room they were in was only one floor above ground level, and there was a woodland area less than fifty yards from the building. And most importantly, Jane now had a reason to open the window— to gasp in a few lungsful of fresh air as 'Remi' tried to compose herself.

Cade said something contemptuous in English, but she didn't quite catch it. It wasn't important. They'd already made their plans.

She left the window slightly cracked open and began to undo Cade's restraints, beginning with his feet and moving on to his hands after that. The knots were well-tied, and her hands were shaking, making the job more difficult than it should have been. The flesh around his wrists was sore and abraded, adding to her distress.

Finally, the knots loosened enough that she was confident he could break free with only a short struggle. Then she called her memories of her torture back to the fore, rising to her feet and heading unsteadily for the door. Faking a full-blown panic attack would be difficult, but she got the feeling that with very little effort, she could bring on the real thing.

She'd done almost everything she could for Cade. Now she just had to be the distraction.

Jane allowed the dark thoughts at the back of her mind to the forefront of her consciousness, giving them free rein.

_You're just a terrorist. A murderer, and now a torturer. You're tainted, broken, deluded. Did you really think you could have a normal life? A fresh start? The ZIP means nothing. One day you'll remember everything, and then you'll be Remi again. And until then? Every time you turn around, some new federal agency will come demanding more information, more sacrifices, more undercover work. Your life will never be your own. You'll never erase these stains on your soul, and the people who care about you will eventually see you as the burden you are._

She leaned heavily against the door, fumbling it open and almost falling against Roman. Instinctively, he caught her shoulders as she staggered forward, and she clutched at him with frantic hands, commanding all of his attention. Unable to speak past her fast, shallow breathing, she tried to bring back her control over herself, but she was too far gone to do anything but hyperventilate.

She saw Roman quickly glance at Cade, who still seemed to be securely tied up in his chair. After he ascertained that the prisoner was no threat, he focused all of his attention on Jane, encouraging her to remember to breathe, to concentrate on the present moment and the things she could see and hear and touch.

As she began to gather the threads of her composure again, she got the strong sense that this wasn't the first time he'd talked her down from this state, and that she'd done the same for him.

She sobbed against her brother's chest, everything forgotten but the comfort he was offering. The inexplicable sense of safety he gave her, even though she knew he'd kill complete strangers in cold blood.

Suddenly, Roman swore, tore himself free of her desperate embrace, and yelled, "Don't you dare, you bastard!"

It took Jane a few seconds to realise that Cade must have taken advantage of the distraction she'd forgotten she was giving him.

As she knelt on the floor, trying to pull deep, steady breaths into her overtaxed lungs instead of hyperventilating, all hell broke loose around her. Roman charged down the stairs, yelling the alarm that Cade had escaped. From the sounds of things, several people set off in pursuit, and she heard Shepherd's voice issuing strong, cold commands from the floor below.

When she heard a pair of military boots marching back up the stairs, Jane knew she was about to find out if her cover was still intact.

Shepherd stopped in front of her, making no attempt to touch her. "Get up, Remi."

Jane wiped her eyes and rose to her feet, though her legs were trembling. She got the feeling that making Shepherd ask twice was not acceptable.

A stinging slap shocked the breath out of her and snapped her head to the side.

"I hope you're proud of yourself. It took us months to capture Oscar's murderer. I wanted you to have closure for his death, but your weakness gave him the opening he was looking for, Remi. God knows if we'll be able to capture him again now."

Jane murmured an apology that tasted like acid in her mouth, unable to look Shepherd in the eye.

"Oh, I'm sure you _are_ sorry. You won't be getting your revenge, Oscar won't be resting peacefully, and I have to deal with an organisation full of subordinates who now know I raised my only daughter to be weak and incompetent. You're an embarrassment, Remi, and I'm tired of cleaning up your messes."

She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

"I warned you, Shepherd," Jane said, rubbing the sting from her cheek. She wasn't even sure where the words came from—she definitely hadn't planned to say them.

Shepherd froze mid-stride, then turned with a softly dangerous, "Excuse me?"

Jane raised her voice a little. "I said, I warned you. I told you right before I walked in that room that I didn't feel like I could handle it, and you told me I could. This is as much your screw-up as it is mine."

For a second, she was sure Shepherd was going to drag her down the hallway by the hair, lock her in the room where Cade had been held and make some kind of example of her. But instead, Shepherd grabbed her by the collar, her enraged face close to Jane's.

"I'm going to cut you some slack because you don't remember my ground rules," she hissed, icy splinters in every word. "But for future reference, you will never, _ever_ criticise me within earshot of our people again. Is that clear?"

For one moment of pure stubbornness, Jane set her jaw and said nothing. Only when she remembered she was supposed to keep herself on Shepherd's good side did she relent with a muttered, "Yes, ma'am."

Shepherd released her just as violently as she'd grabbed hold of her, practically shoving her backwards. "Roman?" she called sharply, her eyes still on Jane's face. "Take your sister back to her safehouse. Parker will head up the search for Cade until you get back."

Without another word, she stalked away.


	50. Exceptional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane processes what has happened, with Kurt's help.

Again, Jane had to endure the drive home with a cloth bag over her head. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad one; she couldn't tell what Roman was thinking, but she also didn't have to worry about her own facial expressions giving her away.

How was it possible to feel ashamed of disappointing Shepherd when she disliked the woman so much, and had very few memories of their time together? Was it that boldly ingrained in her consciousness that it went deeper than memory, right into instinct? How screwed up was that?

At least Cade had gotten away. His escape had been costly for her mental state, and she was pretty sure his face would be added to Mayfair's, Oscar's, Keaton's and Weller's in her nightmares, but at least she hadn't had to murder a man to maintain her cover.

All she wanted right now was to crawl into bed with Weller, have him hold her and listen to him tell her everything would be fine. And yet, she couldn't bear the thought of facing him right now. How could he stand to look at her once he knew she'd had to torture a man? His blood had been all over her hands. The cuts she'd inflicted had only been shallow, for show, but it was bad enough she'd done it at all.

"You can take off the bag now."

Roman had been silent during the whole drive, and she'd been too caught up in her own thoughts to question what was behind that decision. Now that she could see again—they were just a stone's throw from Times Square—she had to catch up fast.

"Roman…"

"Every time I forget you don't remember things, you do something new that reminds me." He shook his head, seeming caught between admiration and disapproval. "You talked back to Shepherd in front of our people. You're lucky she needs you at the FBI. She's gonna be sulking over that one for weeks, and if you were home, she'd have you doing all the worst jobs, just to prove to everyone that she's still on top."

"Will she take it out on you?" Jane asked.

He shrugged. "A little, maybe. Not much."

"I'm sorry. For everything. I really screwed up today, and now Oscar…"

Roman sighed. "Oscar's dead, Remi. He's not gonna care one way or the other."

Jane bowed her head, as if mourning for her lost love.

"And if we catch Cade again, you can shoot him in the head while ten of us have our weapons trained on him."

_Oh, yay. Can't wait._ Some of Cade's trademark sarcasm seemed to have stuck inside her skull.

She scowled over at Roman, trying to do what Remi would have done. "Why don't you just flat-out call me useless? I know that's what you're thinking."

To her surprise, Roman laughed. "If you could remember all the times you covered for me or helped me out when I screwed up as a kid, you wouldn't even think that, let alone say it." He stopped at a red light and put his hand on her shoulder as the car idled. "You were right. You tried to bring up your concerns with Shepherd. She pulled some commanding officer 'strength of character' bullshit and we all got burned for it. Don't get me wrong, you did make mistakes. But it hasn't even been six months since you went through that same kind of torture. You did your best."

"I don't think Shepherd is going to be quite that forgiving," Jane said, with an unease that was completely genuine.

"Shepherd's got phase two to worry about. She's not happy, but she's got other things on her mind. A couple of victories procuring materials, and she'll be back to normal."

"Is there much left to do?" Jane asked casually.

He shot her a sharp look. "Stop fishing for details. You know I'm not allowed to tell you."

Jane sighed. "I was in CIA custody for three months, and they got nothing from me. I can hold my own under interrogation."

"I don't make the rules, and you know it."

"No, Shepherd makes them. The same Shepherd who ordered me to do something I was bound to screw up today."

"That was a one-off. I think she's been rattled that one of her own went rogue. She hand-selected Cade, pressed all his buttons to get him to join us, so she's sore that he ended up betraying us. She usually makes good calls."

Jane nodded, giving up. As off-guard as he'd been today, dealing with her panic, Roman was obviously not going to spill any phase two details today.

As he pulled the car over in front of her place, Roman asked, "You gonna be okay? You need someone to stay with you?"

Touched by his offer, Jane shook her head. "I heard Shepherd. She wants you heading up the hunt for Cade when you get back. Let's not piss her off any more today." She tried a smile. "Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer."

"I'd say call me if you have nightmares, but we need to keep our contact limited. I don't know; call one of your FBI team. Maybe it will help them feel closer to you if you show your vulnerable side around them."

"I'll bear it in mind. Thanks." Jane leaned over and hugged him. "You really helped calm me down tonight."

"That's what brothers are for." He snorted. "When they're not riling you up, I mean."

Jane couldn't help but laugh as she got out of the car. "Goodnight."

She'd put on a strong façade for Roman—out of habit, maybe?—but as soon as she shut the safehouse's front door behind her, it collapsed like a house of cards in a strong breeze.

_Cade._ Had he gotten out safely, or was he already being dragged back to Shepherd's base without hope for a second escape?

_Roman._ Would he really be okay, or would Shepherd take things out on him more than he'd admitted to Jane?

_Weller._ She wanted his arms around her so badly, but the idea of admitting what she'd done and facing his condemnation was almost more than she could bear.

The first thing she did was set the shower running, making the water as hot as she could stand and then turning it up a little higher still. After stripping off her clothing and leaving it in an untidy heap in the middle of the bathroom floor, she stepped under the scalding spray and finally let her tears fall. Maybe, if she scrubbed hard enough, some of her shame and guilt would wash away with the soap and water.

* * *

Weller frowned at his phone, wondering when, exactly, he'd turned into a teenage girl. It was after midnight, and Jane had finally sent him a text message that simply said, _Home safe. Will fill you and Nas in tomorrow._

Leaving aside the fact that tomorrow was a Sunday and none of them were going into work, Jane had practically promised to stay over at his place again tonight. He'd pinned her up against his apartment door before she'd left, leaving light kisses all over her face as he'd asked if she'd be back that night. She'd said yes, right before she'd pushed him away from the door, leaned in to give him one last peck on the lips, then made her escape.

It had taken less than twenty-four hours for her to start pushing him away again. He'd really thought they were getting somewhere; they'd spent the day together as a couple until Sandstorm had rudely interrupted. He wasn't sure who'd been more annoyed—him, or Jane. But she'd dutifully gone to do whatever they'd asked of her, and he'd spent the evening aimlessly watching TV, keeping one eye on the clock and the other on his phone, waiting for her to return.

Had something happened with Sandstorm, or did she need time to process how things were developing between them? His head told him she needed space, but his gut instinct told him otherwise. Something wasn't right about this.

He called Jane's cell, knowing he wouldn't sleep unless he heard her tell him she was okay. She didn't pick up, and the call went to voicemail. "It's me. I know this might seem a little weird, but I just can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. If you just need space, that's okay, but I need to hear you say it. I don't care what time it is when you get this message. Just call me, Jane. Please."

Resisting the urge to end with _I love you_ , he hung up with a sigh.

Five minutes later, a text message alert came up on his phone. _I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin our day with what happened tonight. I really didn't want to worry you._

"Goddamn it, Jane, just call me." He tried her cell again, but she stubbornly refused to pick up.

Exasperated and concerned in equal measure, he sent a text back. _Call me, or I'm coming over there._

After fifteen minutes had passed with no response, he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed for the door. He'd warned her. If she hadn't wanted him on her doorstep, she should have said something.

He opened his apartment door, took one step out into the hall, barely paying attention…and walked straight into Jane, whose hand was raised to knock.

All his annoyance evaporated as he wrapped his arms around her to steady them both. "Hey."

Jane embraced him in return, hiding her face against his shoulder without a word.

His imagination offering up worst-case scenarios, Kurt kissed the top of her head. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Jane drew back reluctantly, and his heart sank as he registered the tears in her eyes. What the hell had happened tonight?

Once he had her cradled in his arms on the couch, he asked softly, "Wanna talk about it?"

"I will. I owe you an explanation, I know. But can you just…hold me for a while first?" she said, without raising her head from his chest. "I just want to be here, in this moment, with you."

Kurt tightened his arms around her and closed his eyes, swallowing his own urge to cry. As much as he was desperate to know what had put Jane into this almost childlike state, he wanted to give her what she needed even more.

"Take as long as you need, Jane. I'm right here."

She stayed silent and still for so long that Weller began to doze off, lulled by her presence, her warmth and scent. When she gave a deep, shaky sigh and tensed in preparation to push herself upright, he roused himself and helped to guide her.

"Thanks," she murmured. "I think I can talk now."

"Need a drink?" he asked. "I don't have bourbon, but if you can handle scotch or Pennsylvania beer, you're welcome to it."

Jane considered for a moment. "Tempting, but I should probably stay sober. Do you have anything a little more…comforting? I know you don't have oolong tea, and it's a little late for coffee, but..."

Weller smiled and got up from the couch after a quick squeeze of her hand. "I have exactly what you need."

A few minutes later, Jane was sipping from a large mug of steaming hot chocolate, a forlorn smile curving her lips. "This is really good."

"I'm a secret chocoholic," he confessed, to lighten the mood.

"Not so secret. You think I don't notice which doughnuts you always go for?" she teased, following the thin strand of normality he offered.

"Damn, and here I thought I had everyone fooled."

Jane tucked herself into the corner of the couch, her knee resting against his thigh as she faced him. The smile dropped from her face. "Do you remember how I was originally going to tell Shepherd that Cade tortured me, but then they shoved him past the door?"

He nodded, trying not to think of the million different ways her story might play out.

"They've been keeping him alive all that time. I think he's Nas' informant inside Sandstorm, or at least, he was until they caught him. They've been torturing him the same way Keaton tortured me, trying to get him to talk. And I made it worse by framing him for Oscar's murder."

"You didn't know he was still alive, Jane."

"I know." She shook her head. "But I did know he turned against Sandstorm during the burning rose tattoo case. And I knew they had him the night I went back to them. And for over two months, I never gave him a second thought."

He reached for her hand and squeezed, listening as she related everything: Roman's warning, Shepherd's manipulation, the way she'd tortured Cade as she'd used their shared understanding of Bulgarian to plan his escape, risking her cover instead of executing him on the spot. By the time she'd finished, her empty hot chocolate mug was hanging listlessly from her fingers and her shoulders were slumped, everything about her posture defeated and despondent.

"So now you know," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "What kind of a person I really am."

He took the mug from her and set it beside his own, then moved closer, taking both of her hands in his. "Yeah, I do."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry I couldn't be a better—"

"Shhh… Listen to me, Jane." She was always so hard on herself, holding herself to impossible standards. Maybe it was because of her past, and he could only imagine what it was like to be so at odds with the person she used to be. But he saw things differently.

"I heard every word you said tonight. And I am so, so damn proud of you."

Clearly, she'd been steeling herself for his condemnation, because she gazed at him in complete bewilderment. "But I _tortured_ a man tonight."

"I was there when Nas told you to maintain your cover, no matter what. You would have been able to walk into that room and shoot him in the head, and we would have given you immunity for the crime. We would have understood that you did what you had to do for the good of the mission, and you knew that. But you risked everything to help him escape. You put your life on the line, and you went through an experience that was probably more traumatic than just killing him, just so that he could live."

A little warmth came into her expression, even as her stubborn streak wouldn't let her concede. "His blood was literally on my hands. He screamed so many times."

"He escaped. He's alive, because of you." Kurt tenderly took her face in his hands, making sure she couldn't look away. "I know exactly the kind of person you are. You're brave. Determined. You protect people without a second thought, even when it comes at personal cost. Sure, sometimes things don't work out in an ideal way, and you can see a better way to handle it in hindsight. That just means you're not perfect. Nobody is."

She smiled sadly, acknowledging his words even if she couldn't fully believe or accept them yet. It would come in time. He'd make sure of it.

"Whether you can see it or not, you're an exceptional person, Jane Doe."

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "That means more to me than you could know."

Kurt leaned forward and pressed a slow, heartfelt kiss against her lips, then stood up. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."

 


	51. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has a nightmare, and wants to talk about Kurt's. Later, Nas guesses the nature of Jane and Kurt's relationship.

It only seemed as though he'd been asleep for a couple of minutes when someone yanked the bedcovers off Kurt. Shivering at the unexpected chill, he rubbed a hand across his face, frowning when he heard a female voice mumbling something in a language he didn't understand.

A flailing, tattooed arm hit him in the chest, and he contextualised fast—Jane was having a nightmare. It was hardly surprising, given what had happened earlier tonight.

It was all too likely that she'd lash out if he touched her, defending herself from whomever was in her dream and not realising he was just trying to help. Kurt decided to stick with the routine he'd established back in Oregon. He slid off the bed and stood with his back against the wall, well out of arm's reach.

"Jane, you're dreaming. Come on back to me."

She frowned in her sleep, but it could have been a response to whatever was happening in her nightmare.

He continued to call her name, identifying himself, telling her to bring herself out of it. After a couple of minutes of her distress worsening, he turned on the light as added incentive for her to wake.

Her cheeks were wet with tears as she blearily opened her eyes. She saw him standing in the doorway and struggled to sit up, issuing a sharp challenge in a language that sounded Slavic. Bulgarian? That would fit what she'd just been through.

"It's Kurt. You're in my apartment, okay? You had a nightmare. You're safe."

For a couple of seconds, Jane just stared at him, uncomprehending. Then his words seemed to get through to her, and she buried her face in her hands with a groan. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't worry about it." Now she was awake and aware, he returned to the bed and replaced the covers where they belonged. "Can I do anything? Get you some water, or…?"

Jane nodded slowly, and reached out to pull him back into the bed. Happy to oblige, he lay down and let her rest her head on his chest.

"The last time you woke me from a nightmare, I wouldn't let you near me," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"We were both hurting," Kurt said, stroking his hand up and down her back in a slow, steady rhythm. Her heartbeat was still calming, residual adrenaline from her nightmare coursing through her system. He hoped his more steady heart rate and breathing would help to calm her. "We had a lot to work through."

"Yeah." She lapsed into silence, but her body language was still too tense for her to be falling asleep.

"Am I still in your dreams?" Kurt didn't want to make it all about him, but her revelation about his part in her nightmares had been plaguing him ever since.

"Not as much since…those nights we spent at my apartment." Jane's cheek shifted against his chest, and he guessed from her tone that she was smiling a little. "Thank you."

"Happy to oblige, ma'am," he teased gently. "Just let me know if you need any more help in that area."

"Anytime, day or night?" She rested her chin on his sternum to look up at him, a playful mood overshadowing the residue of fear in her eyes.

"Mm-hmm." He was just about able to brush a kiss against the tip of her nose by raising his head off the pillow.

Jane gave a more genuine smile and laid her ear against his heart again. "I'll bear that in mind."

He wanted to ask her what she _had_ been dreaming about, but since she'd made so much progress towards relaxing, now was probably not the best time.

"Do _you_ ever get nightmares?" she asked.

Kurt hesitated at the unexpected question, wondering how exactly to put the answer into words.

Mistaking his indecision for reluctance, she backpedalled. "You don't have to answer that. It's none of my business—"

"No," he interrupted, cutting her off before she could start to apologise. "It's okay; I was just thinking. I used to get nightmares pretty bad as a kid. Not proper night terrors, but bad dreams."

"Taylor? Your dad?" Jane's voice was sympathetic.

"Yeah." He'd been constantly on guard after Taylor's disappearance, afraid his father would come to silence his accusations—or worse, go after his sister. "I was angry and scared, and I knew I couldn't protect anyone. Not Taylor, and not Sarah or my mom if he went after them. I still wanted to try. Not that my mom stuck around for long after that."

"That must have been such a strain. Feeling like you had to protect your whole family." Jane shifted so that her head rested on the pillow beside his, giving her a better view of his face. "You were just a little boy."

"My parents used to drill it into us as really little kids. Brothers and sisters don't fight; brothers and sisters have each other's backs." He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "We never really took the 'not fighting' part on board, but we always looked out for each other. When Taylor was born, she kind of became our honorary sister, too. I took it hard when she…"

He didn't need to finish. Jane was already nodding. "That's a ton of responsibility. Your parents should have protected you from that."

"I always dreamed that my father killed Sarah, that I couldn't stop him. Not every night, but once a week, at least. After he sent me to military school, I used to break my curfew, try to visit her, make sure she was safe. It nearly got me expelled."

Jane smiled a little. "You were a teenage rebel? _You?_ "

"Is that really so surprising?"

"No, I guess not. But something must have changed. You became an FBI agent after graduation—not exactly something you do to be rebellious. So what made you finish high school?"

Kurt thought about it. "I guess I realised that I was never going to be able to protect Sarah without being able to make my way through the world. As a kid, I was powerless, but if I did things right, I could become more powerful as an adult and have the influence to change things." Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn't quite grasp it. "I guess someone at the academy must have laid it out for me like that. It was what I needed to hear, anyway."

"And since you graduated, no more nightmares?"

"Not recurrent ones. Just the occasional bad dream when things get stressful. Had a couple after I found Taylor." He shrugged. "Anyway, they're different from yours."

"But still important. They were a huge part of shaping your childhood." Jane ran her fingers down his face. "And you grew up into a good man."

Leaving his thoughts about his past behind, Kurt smiled. "Oh, you think so?"

Jane gave him a light kiss. "I know so."

* * *

"And you've known about this for over twelve hours?" Nas demanded, her voice irritated on the other end of the line. "I could have been getting my NSA systems and teams to scour for any sighting or mention of Cade. It could have led to something we could use to narrow down Shepherd's location. Do you have any idea what a chance we've missed here?"

Kurt sighed and sat down on the couch. "Nas, calm down. We don't even know what area to start looking in, and Jane said Shepherd was aware that she had a leak in her organisation. She won't risk her people using Cade's name over comms or on the phone, even if the NSA does have surveillance methods Sandstorm haven't already identified and disabled."

"We don't know that," Nas said. "We could have gotten lucky. In the future, I need to know everything the minute it's safe for her to tell us." She paused. "I'll call her, see if I can get some extra details."

"She won't pick up. She's at the gym and she left her phone on my kitchen counter."

"She stayed over at your place last night? Weller, is there something going on between you two I need to know about?"

Kurt bit back a groan of frustration. This was a complication he should have seen coming. "No, Nas, because it's none of your business."

Her voice was icy. "If you two are sleeping together, that's absolutely my business. Because it affects Jane's loyalties, and _your_ objectivity."

Kurt scowled. "Are you implying that Jane would be able to turn me to Sandstorm, even if she wanted to do that—which she doesn't?"

Avoiding his question, Nas said, "I take it that's a yes, then. You two _are_ in some kind of relationship."

Kurt tried not to grind his teeth. "Yes. But that stays between us until Jane decides otherwise, understand? She's under a lot of pressure already, without having to deal with gossip at work."

"Be careful around her, Weller. Romantic ties can blind you to things you would otherwise notice. Trust me; I know." Nas actually sounded worried about him.

"You're forgetting Jane's already betrayed my team. I noticed she was different, but I assumed I knew the reason the first time around. I was wrong then, but this time I know what signs to look for." Weller was glad Jane wasn't around to hear this. She'd take it the wrong way, assume he didn't trust her.

"I hope you're right." Nas paused, then asked, "And Jane really thinks Cade is my informant within Sandstorm? That would explain why he went dark last year."

They talked for a few more minutes, solidifying the details Jane had given him. Then Nas said, "I should go start working with this. Better late than never. Just get Jane to call me when she gets back, all right?"

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? You have all the major points. Everything else is just details. And Nas, she's only human. She's struggling with all this and she needs time to decompress."

Nas sighed. "Fine. I'll get the rest of the details from her tomorrow. But if she tells you anything else we could use today—"

"I'll get her to call you."

Jane let herself in with his spare key, the one he'd had cut for Sarah when she'd been living here. He smiled over at her and signalled that he was almost done. She gave him a quick smile back.

"And Nas—I meant what I said earlier. About keeping things to yourself."

"Don't worry. I'm good with secrets."

Once he'd hung up, he beckoned Jane to come and sit with him.

"Is she pissed that I didn't call her the minute I got back from Shepherd's compound last night?" Jane asked.

"A little." Kurt took her hand. "And…she guessed we're seeing each other."

Jane blinked. "Oh. Umm…"

"I told her to keep it to herself until we decide we're going to tell people." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, wondering what she was thinking.

"I'm sorry," Jane said quietly. "I know this is awkward for you."

"What are you talking about?" He got the uneasy feeling he already knew, but he wanted to hear it from her.

Jane shook her head, eyes downcast. "I don't want your reputation to suffer because people know you're in a relationship with me."

He sighed. "Jane, no one outside of the core team knows you're affiliated with Sandstorm. And I don't care who knows we're dating. I can handle gossip around the office, and I can shut it down. It's you I'm worried about. I don't want you to have to deal with people staring and talking about you behind your back."

The look she gave him was genuinely stunned. "You don't care who knows?"

"You're not my dirty little secret. The only reason I've kept it quiet before now is that I wasn't sure where we stood." He brushed her hair back from her face, using it as an excuse to touch her. "If you want, I can prove it to you by making out with you in the middle of SIOC tomorrow."

Her face broke into a reluctant smile. "That's really not necessary."

"I might do it anyway," he teased. "Just because I want to."

"No, _Deputy Director_ Weller." Jane punched his chest gently. "It's one thing if people know we're together. It's another thing if people actually see it firsthand."

"Okay, then if I'm not allowed to put my hands all over you at work, I'm gonna need to get it out of my system now. Just so I can actually concentrate on the job tomorrow."

She laughed as he pulled her into his lap. Their first kiss was short and playful, but as she leaned in again, his desire ignited and he tightened his grip on her, kissing her harder. Every time he could make her laugh, make her smile, it warmed his heart. He might be powerless to help her when she was with Sandstorm, but he could at least make sure she didn't dwell too much on her time there once she was done.


	52. Unwanted Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Kurt realise that they still need to hide their relationship.

Together, they’d dozed off after their late-morning sex, and Jane was the first to wake. Turning over to watch Kurt’s face, so relaxed and peaceful in sleep, she couldn’t help but smile a little; he was so much more than she deserved, but all she wanted.

And bafflingly, he seemed to want her just as much. It didn’t make sense, but she sure as hell was going to hold on as tightly as she could for as long as this lasted.

How had she gotten so lucky? She’d assumed that their relationship was something he’d want to keep just between them, now that her true identity had been revealed and her origins explained. But he wanted people to know they were seeing each other.

They’d moved from the bed to the couch not long after that first mischievous kiss had become heated and intense. After he’d laid her down on the bed, Kurt had pushed up her shirt and trailed kisses across her stomach and along the waistband of her pants. Then he’d looked up at her, his lips an inch from her skin, and said, “I want the world to know that you’re mine, Jane Doe.”

His feelings couldn’t have been clearer if he’d said it straight out. He loved her, and he was staking his claim.

Seeing it so plainly on his face had both elated and terrified her.

Overwhelmed, she’d pulled him up on top of her to kiss him, forceful and emotional and needy all at once. Time had passed in a blur, and afterwards, when they lay satisfied and gasping for breath in each other’s arms, Kurt had murmured, “Wake me up if I fall asleep, okay?”

Jane had hummed some kind of non-verbal agreement, then they’d both succumbed to sleep.

Now she had a choice: let him doze a little longer, to catch up on the rest she’d deprived him of with her nightmare last night, or wake him the way he’d asked?

If she didn’t wake him, she might fall asleep again, too—and another nightmare might ruin the rest of their day. Plus, there were a few creative methods she could use to bring him back to consciousness—methods she was sure he would have no objection to.

She slid her hand down his abs—not as firm and smooth as Oscar’s, but somehow more satisfying under her fingers. She’d once thought she would never be able to be with him this way, but now she had carte blanche to touch him, kiss him, excite him. Kurt stirred in his sleep as she lightly wrapped her hand around his resting cock and stroked upward towards the tip. He began to harden almost immediately, though he didn’t wake.

After a few more strokes, he groaned. Sensing he was about to find his way back to consciousness, Jane decided to help him along, slipping down under the sheet to trail kisses over his chest and abdomen, lower and lower.

When she took the head of his cock into her mouth and flicked her tongue against what she knew was the most sensitive spot, Kurt’s hips shifted involuntarily as he tried to push deeper.  He rested a hand on her head, a low rumble of pleasure conveying his approval.

Jane tried not to smile as she continued to tease him, sucking gently, then easing off. If he wasn’t fully awake by now, he was almost there, his guiding hand threading through her messy hair and pulling just a little.

“Fuck me, that feels good.”

She always felt a thrill when she could break through his defences enough to make him curse. Stroking with her hand and teasing with her mouth, she waited for him to get impatient enough to wrest control from her.

“Jane…”

She never got tired of hearing him say her name like that—half warning, half plea, all desperate sexual frustration. She stopped teasing and began to please him in earnest, her head bobbing beneath the sheet. Kurt slowly took her mouth, testing her limits, speeding up a little when she squeezed his thigh in encouragement.

He pushed down the sheet to watch her, cupping her face in his hand as their eyes met. The heat and the need in his gaze ignited her determination, and she sucked harder, provoking him without saying a word.

His head fell back onto the pillow as he moaned, too caught up in the sensation to take in the show she was giving him. He was so sexy like this, completely off guard and unrestrained. His thighs shook as he drew close to the edge, his breathing hard and unsteady as he thrust as deep into her mouth as she would allow.

“Jane—” he managed, a warning that if she didn’t want him to finish where he was, she’d better stop now.

She ignored it, continuing to pleasure him in every way she could, willing him over the edge. As if her thoughts had made it happen, he growled his satisfaction as he came in hot, strong pulses, flooding her mouth.

Jane remained where she was as the tension left his body, trailing light kisses over his cock before transferring her attention to his lower abdomen, letting him come down from the high of his climax. After a few more moments, he reached down to her.

“C’mere.”

She crawled up into his breathless embrace, smiling.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting when I said ‘wake me up’, but I’m definitely not gonna complain.” He gave her a brief, hard kiss.

Enjoying how much she’d shaken his composure, she wrapped her arm and leg around him and snuggled close. “You did it for me Friday night, so I figured I’d return the favour.”

“I’m very, very grateful.” He kissed her forehead. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll show you exactly _how_ grateful.”

“Really? You’re gonna make me lunch?” Jane gave him an entreating look.

“Hmm, am I insulted that you’re turning down my sexual advances, or glad that you want to eat a proper meal?”

Jane rolled her eyes, amused. “If you want me to accept your advances later, I’m gonna need to keep my strength up. Want me to order something in?”

“Nah. Just give me a minute and I’ll make us something.” He tightened his arms around her, and they were quiet for a moment, almost contented.

* * *

 

While Kurt made them both grilled cheese sandwiches, Jane sat at the table and sketched on a piece of scrap paper, using a ballpoint pen. By the time Kurt placed food in front of her, she had drawn a rough sketch of him standing with his back to her, shirtless and cooking. Was there a sexier sight in the world?

“Are you objectifying me, Ms. Doe?” he teased, sitting down opposite her.

Jane set the sketch aside, a little embarrassed. “You caught me.”

“If I tried to draw you, it would look like one of Sawyer’s drawings from when he was about three years old. You should be proud of what you can do. Wish I had a talent like that.”

“You can cook,” Jane pointed out. “I’m useless in the kitchen, so I’ll always be impressed that you can make things that actually taste better than mediocre.”

“I could try to teach you,” Kurt offered.

Jane thought about it, her mouth full of grilled cheese. “You could,” she said, after chewing and swallowing, “But Shepherd tried and failed, so it’d probably be a waste of your time. No one can be good at everything, I guess.”

Kurt’s expression darkened a little at the mention of Shepherd, and Jane regretted bringing her into the conversation. _Too late now._

“You and Nas still haven’t figured out why she was watching you?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “The more time goes by, the more worried about it I get. Phase two is gonna happen soon, right? What if I’m the catalyst that sets it all off, by doing something I don’t even realise is gonna trigger it?”

“You’ll make yourself crazy thinking like that. You can’t second-guess everything you do.”

“I’m the second-in-command of the NYO. That’s a lot of responsibility, but none of it is on a national level. My decisions only affect the FBI’s New York office, but from what Oscar said, putting me in Mayfair’s place is critical to Shepherd’s plan.” He sighed. “The more I turn this over in my head, the more confused I get.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane reached out and took his hand over the table.

He shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s Shepherd I’m pissed at.”

“If I thought there was even a tiny chance Shepherd would buy it, I’d suggest trying to make her believe I’ve turned you to their cause, so you could meet her.” She shook her head. “From what Roman was saying, though…”

As Jane froze, chasing the idea that had almost dawned on her, Kurt squeezed her hand. “Jane?”

“I don’t think you’re part of phase two,” she said slowly.

“What? But Oscar said—”

“Exactly,” she interrupted. “Oscar said phase two was about burning it all to the ground. But he also said ‘only from the ashes can we rise’. I think there’s a phase three. Shepherd isn’t just about mindless vengeance. She wants to fix things, too.”

Kurt sat back, abandoning the last few bites of his sandwich. “So you think Shepherd hand-selected me to…what, exactly?”

“Be one of the ones who rebuilds.” Jane shrugged. “I could be wrong. And I don’t know why having you as the deputy director of the NYO helps that goal. But Shepherd has been monitoring you for half of your life, and Roman said you were honest and morally upstanding, which was why they sent me to you. I was meant to influence your decisions. This makes more sense than it doesn’t.”

“I don’t get it, Jane. The NYO isn’t the most senior-ranking FBI office; Headquarters in Washington, DC is. Wouldn’t they pick someone from there?”

She shrugged again. “I have no idea. Like I said, this is all just a theory. Maybe I can ask Shepherd if there’s a phase three…once she stops being mad at me.”

Just the thought of Shepherd’s icy demeanour sent a shiver down her spine.

As if he sensed her unease, Kurt backed away from the topic of conversation. “We can’t do anything with this now. Let’s bring Nas in on it tomorrow and see if she has any ideas.”

“Okay.” Jane put the last corner of her sandwich into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Once she’d finished her mouthful, she added, “I guess I’ll need to tell Roman and Shepherd that we’re seeing each other, too. If they find out from surveilling me, they’ll want to know why I’m keeping it from them.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about meeting your parents,” Kurt said wryly. “At least, not until we have her in cuffs, anyway.”

Jane hesitated. “Do you think Shepherd will be suspicious? That I started seeing you so soon after Cade got free, when my mind should be on Oscar?”

“Maybe,” Kurt said, his shoulders slumping. Obviously, he knew where this was going and he didn’t like it.

“I should probably go back to my safehouse tonight. And… And we should keep quiet for a while longer. About us.”

Kurt stood up, encouraging her to do the same. He guided her over to the couch, where they curled up together, needing physical closeness while they fended off their disappointment.

“For how long?” He asked the most important question first.

Jane closed her eyes. How long would they have to act like they were only friends?

“A-a month, maybe? If they’ve noticed that I’ve spent the last couple of nights here, I can say it’s because you got a concussion on the job and you needed someone to stay with you. In a couple of weeks I can tell Roman that I’m…” She shook her head, disgusted at herself. “I don’t know. Working on seducing you, just like in Remi’s original plan.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Kurt nodding. “I hate this,” he said, his voice barely a growl.

“I know.”

“It’s almost a year since you first kissed me, outside my apartment block. Since then, we’ve had so many things get in our way. Oscar. The CIA. Now Shepherd. When are things gonna start going right for us?”

“Things have felt pretty right this weekend,” Jane pointed out. “Aside from what happened with Cade last night, I mean. But being here with you has been... It feels right.”

Kurt kissed the top of her head. “I know we’ve been sleeping together for weeks, but that was different. We hadn’t figured out where we stood with each other. Now we have, I don’t want to let you go.”

“What’s one more month on top of everything we’ve been through already?” She meant the words to be optimistic, but they tasted bitter on her tongue.

“You can still come over here a couple times a week, right? As long as you go home to sleep?” His body was tense against hers, as though the answer to this question was of critical importance to him.

Jane shifted around so she could look into his face. “Yeah. Maybe just once for the first week, but twice the week after. And maybe we could get the team to come over here for drinks, too? So it doesn’t look so weird that I’m here.”

He visibly relaxed, smiling a little as he pulled her into a relieved kiss. When she pulled back, Jane searched his expression for answers. “What were you worried about?”

“That I wouldn’t get to spend any time with you outside of work. I guess…” He sighed. “It’s taken us so long to get here. I don’t want you to start persuading yourself that it’s better if we stay apart until we catch Sandstorm. Or…for good.”

Jane smiled, leaned in closer. “I’m too selfish to give you up completely, even for the good of the mission.”

He kissed her until she was breathless, his embrace possessive and intense. When they broke apart again, she’d almost forgotten what they’d been talking about.

“How long until you have to leave?” he asked, running his fingertips over her collarbones.

“About…six hours?”

“Any ideas how we should spend them?” The trace of melancholy in his eyes was quickly replaced by mischief.

Jane kissed him again, sweetly demanding. “Just like this.”


	53. Plans and Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets ready to go to Bulgaria as Kurt and Jane struggle to keep their distance from each other.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go. But you know I have to.” Jane pressed her forehead against Kurt’s and sighed. “Check your mailbox in about thirty minutes, okay? I just had an idea.”

He kissed her softly. “Sounds intriguing. Tell me about it.”

“You know I have to leave.” She kissed him this time, her obvious longing making his chest ache in empathy.

“I do, but what’s thirty more minutes? It’s not like you have a concrete deadline.” He knew as he spoke that he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that once she walked out of his apartment, she’d start forgetting how incredible they were together. Sure, it was probably paranoia, but…

“If I don’t go now, I won’t be able to make myself go at all. And you know I’m right.” She ducked his kiss and laid her head on his shoulder instead, pressing close. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, and we can talk to Nas about making it believable for Remi to start dating you.”

He swallowed the urge to tell her that he loved her for the hundredth time, not wanting to make this harder on either of them. “If you have nightmares and need to talk, call me.”

Nodding, she pulled out of his embrace. “See you tomorrow.”

Unable to help himself, he tugged her into one final kiss, possessive and loving and heated all at once. Jane melted into his arms again, kissing him back just as fiercely. Too soon, she extricated herself by abruptly shoving him away. “Thirty minutes. Check your mailbox.”

With a smile that touched him deep down, she yanked open the door, stepped through and shut it firmly in his face.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he took the stairs down to the lobby of his apartment block, knowing he was setting himself up for disappointment to expect too much, but unable to stop himself from wondering if Jane would be there. There was no sign of her—of course—but when he opened his mailbox, he found a cheap pre-paid cell phone there, one text message already waiting to be read.

“Burner phones,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head at the simple genius of her idea. If either of their apartments had been bugged, it was game over for them already—they’d already slept together at both—but he didn’t think that was the case. It was far more likely that their phones were tapped, if Sandstorm were monitoring them that closely at all. By using burner phones, he and Jane would be able to stay in more frequent contact without raising suspicions.

Not that he was wild about the idea that Sandstorm could be tapping his phone. He made a mental note to check in with Patterson tomorrow about that.

He took the phone back upstairs before reading the message.

_Just to be safe. Call me when you get this. X_

Smiling a little, Kurt called the unfamiliar number already programmed into the phone’s memory.

“Hi,” Jane said, a little shyly.

Kurt relaxed back into the couch cushions, closing his eyes. “This is very special ops. I’m impressed.”

She laughed, sounding a little out of breath. “I don’t know about special ops, but we can’t be too careful.”

“You know, if they have our apartments bugged, they already heard a hell of a lot that suggests we’ve been seeing each other.”

“If they have our apartments bugged, my cover is blown and we don’t need to worry about keeping anything secret anymore,” Jane pointed out.

If not for the national security threat, he would be a hell of a lot happier if that was the case. Only the approaching terrorist attack that Sandstorm represented had stopped him from pulling the plug on Jane’s undercover operation last night. Not to mention the threat of the CIA spiriting Jane away again the second his back was turned.

“We’ll worry about that if it happens.” Kurt changed the subject. “You get home okay?”

“Yeah. Just in the middle of a little strength training.”

As he imagined her there in her sports bra and shorts, his mouth watered. “How’s it going?”

Sounding a little discouraged, Jane said, “Not as well as I’d like, but it’ll come. I tried some pull-ups for the first time just now.”

“Yeah? How many’d you manage?”

Jane paused, then grudgingly admitted, “Two.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her obvious annoyance. “It’ll come back, with time and training. Just don’t overdo it, and you’ll be fine.”

“I know.” She sighed, and he heard a rustle, as though she’d sat or lain down. “Anyway, I just wanted to know this was all set up okay. You can go get on with your night now.”

“I miss you.”

She laughed, genuine surprise in the sound. “You just saw me thirty minutes ago.”

“What, does that mean you don’t miss me yet? I’m hurt,” he teased.

“Yeah, I guess I do. But I’m trying to distract myself.”

Taking that as a sign that she needed some space, Kurt said, “Go on and finish your workout. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Kurt.” Her voice carried her hesitant affection across the distance that separated them.

“Night, Jane.”

* * *

“We’ve found no trace of Cade, but hopefully that means Sandstorm hasn’t, either. Maybe he’ll pop back up later, maybe he won’t. Either way, he’s alive and Jane’s cover is intact, and any loss for them is a win for us, so…” Nas ended with a shrug.

She seemed to have calmed down since she’d yelled at Kurt over the phone yesterday, but Jane still got the feeling that Nas would have been happier if she hadn’t taken the risk with her cover. This mission was everything to her.

She glanced over to find Kurt watching Nas with a slight frown, but before anyone could say anything, the door opened and Patterson leaned around the doorframe.

“Sorry to interrupt, but that black hole photo Mayfair left us in her files? Our systems just cracked it.”

Everyone but Nas immediately straightened up. This wasn’t directly related to Sandstorm, and Nas had never met Mayfair, so it didn’t have the same weight for her as it did the rest of the team. Still, she joined them around the large screen mounted on the wall, looking interested.

“Okay, so, when I unscrambled the image, I got this.” Patterson took them through the image, which Jane realised with dawning wonder was a collection of email messages. “Long story short, it’s leading to Douglas Winter.”

“Douglas Winter? Mayfair knew where he disappeared to?” Nas instantly became a lot more invested. Douglas Winter, a former NSA employee, had leaked a lot of sensitive, surveillance-related information to the international press before fleeing the country, but no one knew his whereabouts. Every federal agency was interested in catching up with him and bringing him to justice—despite the fact that Jane privately thought he’d done the public a service by revealing the extent of the NSA’s reach. If Nas was able to bring him in, she’d win a lot of respect from her superiors.

One look at Kurt revealed he was having the same thought. His gaze rested sharply on their task force founder, and Nas was clearly aware of that. She said nothing, however.

Something in Bulgarian on-screen caught Jane’s eye, and she pointed it out. “Did you already translate this?” she asked Patterson.

“I wondered if you’d notice,” Patterson said. “I did, but you go ahead.”

“Which one of the hundred languages you speak is it?” Zapata asked distractedly, her eyes scanning the English-language correspondence.

“Bulgarian.” Jane read out the short message, first in its original language, then translated to English. “My fair darling, winter’s come to the grand hotel. Love, Maria.”

“Yeah, it was sent to Winter’s girlfriend, Krysta Massey. Apparently, she never received it; it must have been intercepted.” Patterson shrugged.

“By Mayfair.” Weller’s voice held a note Jane couldn’t quite read. “She was looking for Winter.”

“There’s a Grand Hotel Maria in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria,” Patterson said. “Seems worth checking out, don’t you think?”

“I’m going with you,” Nas said immediately.

Weller frowned. “Can I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Nas sighed and indicated one of the side rooms. “Lead the way.”

The rest of the team watched them go. “Think we’d ever get to interrogate Winter if the NSA got their hands on him first?” Zapata asked.

“Not a chance,” Reade said.

“So, Jane, I’m guessing you’re going, since you speak the language?” Patterson asked.

Jane tore her eyes from the closed door behind which Nas and Kurt were arguing. “Umm, actually, I don’t think I’ll be able to. I don’t have a passport.”

Zapata frowned. “But you came to Turkey with us last year.”

“That was using Taylor Shaw’s identity.”

Zapata’s mouth formed a soundless ‘oh’ as the conversation died. Uncomfortable silence fell.

After a moment, Patterson said, “I don’t see why you couldn’t get a new identity for the duration of this operation. I mean, you might need it for the tattoos, or for pursuing Shepherd, and it wouldn’t hurt to have one already made up if you need it on short notice.”

“You think Nas would be okay with that?” Reade asked. “She might consider Jane a flight risk.”

“Pellington, too,” Jane added.

“Doesn’t hurt to ask, right?” Patterson said. “And if you were going to skip out on us, better that you do it with a passport that we know, rather than an ID Sandstorm gave you, that we don’t know.”

“That argument might go somewhere,” Zapata said.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Patterson said, “If you did get to pick out a new identity, what name would you choose?”

Jane had already spent a while considering that, and needed no time to think. “Jane Dover. Dover, like the English port. It sounds almost exactly like the name I’m used to hearing, but all I need to do is add a syllable if I slip up, or someone else does.”

“Ahhh.” Reade nodded. “Clever.”

“You don’t want to go for something flashy, like Celeste St. Clair the Younger or something like that?” Zapata asked. “Or at least something a bit further from Jane Doe? Closer to your birth name?”

Jane shrugged. “No. It can be a little inconvenient, but I honestly like being Jane Doe. Any alternative seems too close to being Remi.”

Patterson gave an enigmatic smile. “I will note down your choice of identities for future reference.”

“Thanks. If it doesn’t come to anything, don’t worry about it.” Jane tried not to think of the team chasing after leads in Bulgaria, putting their lives in danger without her to cover their backs—Kurt’s back—in case of disaster.

Nas and Weller returned, both tense, but presenting a united front.

“So, who’s going to Bulgaria?” Zapata asked casually.

“Me, Nas, Jane and Reade,” Weller said. “Patterson, I want you here keeping your eye on the rest of that encryption on Mayfair’s drive, just in case.”

“What about me?” Zapata scowled.

“You have that wedding on Wednesday, right? You already booked the day off for it.”

Tasha sighed. “Damn, I forgot about that. I’d skip it for a free trip to Europe, but it’s my cousin’s wedding, and I’m a bridesmaid. I have to wear this hideous fuchsia thing… The things we do for family, huh?”

Jane examined her nails, not wanting to respond to that comment. It hadn’t been a calculated dig, but even so…

“Jane, you’re going to need papers, yes?” Nas said.

She looked up, genuinely surprised. “You’d be willing to let me have them?”

“If Director Pellington gives his approval, then yes.” Nas sorted through some paper files as she spoke. Something about her demeanour told Jane she wasn’t a hundred percent sure about this course of action, and one glance over at Kurt confirmed that he’d made some kind of deal for her.

Jane made a mental note to thank him in several ways next time they had a moment alone together.

“So, assuming I get to go… When do we leave?”

* * *

Kurt was taking a break from paperwork to grab a coffee when his burner phone buzzed. He pulled it out to find a text message from Jane.

_No one else is in Zero Division right now, if you’re free for a second…_

He abandoned the coffee machine immediately and headed down the back hallways that led to their secure area. Even if they were interrupted, they could swear any of the team who had access to secrecy.

It looked like Jane had been composing an official written statement on the Cade incident. When he walked in, she laid down her pen with a smile. “Hey—”

Kurt pulled her up out of the chair and into his arms, not bothering with pleasantries. Her smile was slow to fade against his lips, her next words stalled by his kiss, as she pressed closer. Lost in her scent and the electricity building between them, he prolonged their embrace until they were both breathless.

Jane pushed reluctantly against his chest, breaking away. “Wow.”

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it at all. “I’ve been needing to do that all morning.”

She gazed affectionately up at him. “Me too. Especially after you got me clearance to go to Bulgaria tomorrow. Thank you, Kurt. I mean it.”

He kissed her nose lightly. “It’s not exactly a romantic getaway vacation, especially with Nas and Reade along, but Nas was pretty insistent that she be in on the arrest.”

Jane shrugged. “I can’t blame her, really. I mean, Winter is a pretty big deal for the NSA. What was the deal you made with her?”

Had it been so obvious that he’d bargained for her, or was she just perceptive? “I told her she could come along if you could, but since Winter isn’t directly related to Sandstorm, she has to follow my lead, and at no point is she to be alone with Winter.”

“Think she’ll stick to it?” Jane asked, leaning against him.

“With three of us along to keep an eye on her, she’ll have to. He might end up in NSA custody, but I want to know everything he knows about Mayfair and Daylight first.”

Jane frowned a little. “What makes you think he knows anything about…?” Realisation dawned, and she answered her own question. “‘My fair darling’—Mayfair, darling.” The hope in her expression mirrored what he was feeling. “You think he can fill in some of the blanks about her investigation before Weitz came after her?”

“Let’s hope so.” If he let himself think about it too much, he might build his expectations too high. He distracted himself by cupping Jane’s face in his hands, watching her eyes soften at his loving attention. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Assuming I can come up with something convincing, telling Roman I’ll be in Bulgaria for a couple of days. Maybe he’ll have news about Cade, too.” She sighed. “Then I guess I’ll turn in early. I didn’t sleep too well last night. Not that I think tonight will be much better.”

“Wish I could be there to help. After the nightmares.” It hurt to know she spent most nights in distress, and he couldn’t be there to soothe her.

“Me too.” Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with playfulness. “Especially since last night, I realised there’s one thing about the night you found out I wasn’t Taylor that we haven’t… overwritten yet.”

He blinked, trying to follow her train of thought. She didn’t leave him hanging, leaning close to whisper against his ear, “You haven’t put your cuffs on me.”

 _Oh, fuck._ He hoped no one chose that moment to get back from whatever they were doing, because he was helpless to stop his body’s reaction to that scenario. He’d never imagined Jane would want him to restrain her, especially not after her months of torture at the CIA’s hands. The trust she was showing him by even suggesting it astounded him.

She ground appreciatively against his growing hardness, her lips still against his ear. “You like that idea, huh?”

“You have to let me come over tonight. After you’ve dealt with Roman.” He tried to pull back enough that he could kiss her, but she wouldn’t let him.

“Well… I guess they won’t be surveilling my place when they know I’m not there. So if you take the subway and get there while I’m out… And then I leave before you do tomorrow morning…” She rocked her hips subtly against his, her breathing becoming a little shaky as he slid his hands down to her ass, unsure whether he was trying to encourage her movements or stop them.

“I’m really, really liking this plan.”

Jane finally leaned back enough to let him kiss her, his hunger mirrored in her response. After a minute, she pulled away and stepped back, the loss of her heat against him a sudden shock. “We have to get back to work.”

She was right, but he didn’t have to like it. “I have a meeting with counter-terrorism this afternoon, but I’ll see you tonight. Text me when you know what’s happening with Roman.”

Jane sat back down at her desk, a little flushed but otherwise appearing calm. “See you later.”

Unable to help himself, he leaned down for one more kiss, then turned towards the door, hoping he could make it to the bathroom down the hall without running into anyone who might notice his complete lack of composure right now.


	54. Overconfidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some emotional smut. ;D

Jane returned to her safehouse with a light step and relief in her heart. Roman had told her that Cade was nowhere to be found, and though Jane had feigned anger and disappointment, even throwing in a little self-recrimination, her actual feelings were very different. No matter where Cade was now, she hoped he was keeping low and healing. She doubted he had his own equivalent of Kurt to get him through his trauma, but she was in no position to help even if she did know where to find him.

Her cover story for her upcoming trip had been mainly the truth: that the team had unexpectedly come across a lead on a cold case, and had offered to manufacture a temporary identity for her so that she could come and assist. She'd explained that since she knew the language, the team had decided she'd be an asset worth taking along.

Roman had told her to enjoy her time in Bulgaria and excused himself not long after, looking apologetic and a little uncomfortable. Jane assumed Shepherd was still riding him hard to find her escaped prisoner. He'd refused to answer when Jane had asked about the atmosphere between him and their mother.

But that was only a small shadow compared to the news she'd feared she'd be facing. Cade had made it out. Their plan had worked, and now he had a chance to make a new life for himself—hopefully one that didn't revolve around violence and death. That was what really mattered.

And now she got to spend the night with Kurt. Jane pushed down the slight quiver of unease that she might not be ready for what she'd asked him to do to her, focused on her anticipation at seeing him, and pushed open the door to her apartment.

The living room was dark, but Kurt's jacket was draped over the arm of the couch, and light shone from the bedroom doorway. Curious what he was up to, she peeked around the doorframe to find him sitting in the chair in the corner, her huge coffee-table book on the history of weaponry open in his lap.

"Hey. How'd it go?" He snapped the book shut and replaced it on her shelf before crossing the room.

"Cade got away. Roman told me to have fun in Bulgaria." She stepped into his embrace, looping her arms around his neck. "But I don't want to talk about that."

Pulling her tighter against him, Kurt asked, "You still want what we talked about earlier?"

A lesser man would have just whipped out the cuffs without asking. Jane loved that Kurt was always so careful to check her limits; her earlier doubts diminished to almost nothing.

"I've had choices taken from me so much, recently. At first, I needed to keep whatever control I had left, no matter what. Last night, when I realised I wanted to give that control to you for a little while, I was surprised, too. But this is different. This is my choice, and it's because I trust you. I'm not totally sure I can handle it, but I want to try. If you want to."

Was it her imagination, or did he stand taller somehow, accepting the responsibility she was holding out to him?

"Whenever you need to stop, just ask."

"Is my safeword still 'mercy'?" She kissed her way across his jawline, wanting to provoke him into action. The chemistry between them was building fast, but he was holding back, making sure he understood what she needed.

"Yeah." He pulled up her shirt, and she lifted her arms to let him strip it off. Her sports bra soon followed, but he made no move to touch or kiss her just yet. "But the aim isn't to make you use it this time. It's for you to use if you're panicking." His eyes grew troubled. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Jane. I can't, not even if you ask me to do it. Not after everything you've been through."

She smiled. "That's why I know I'm safe with you. Don't worry. I don't want you to do anything you don't want, either."

His relief was plain in his kiss, and she sensed he'd been worrying he wouldn't be able to give her what she needed. Nothing could have been further from the truth; she didn't need anything he didn't willingly want to give her.

"Take off the rest of your clothes," he murmured against her lips.

Anticipation kicking in, Jane pulled off her boots one by one, then turned her back to Kurt. After pushing her pants and underwear down over her hips, she bent at the waist to remove everything she was wearing, then straightened up to glance over her shoulder and check his reaction.

She caught a glimpse of his appreciative gaze on her ass before he moved in to press against her, his body heat warming her even through his clothing. His hands slid over her hips, down to rest on her inner thighs, not touching where she longed to feel him but making her aware of all the possibilities this night held.

Kurt kissed her neck softly, knowing it made her knees weak. "I know you didn't choose the tattoos," he said between kisses, his husky voice turning her on even more, "but they look so damn good on you."

Jane smiled and turned in his arms. "Which one is your favourite?"

A light touch skimmed over his name between her shoulder blades. "I know it makes me a possessive bastard, but this one."

"Hmm… Maybe I shouldn't get rid of it, then."

The look in his eyes was at once heated, hopeful and ashamed of that hope. "It's your choice, Jane. It's your body. But—"

She kissed away his words, knowing what was in his mind. Part of her was ashamed of liking the fact that his name was branded on her body, too. But, even though she'd railed against it while she'd been furious at him, he was important enough to her that it felt right. And covering it up would only feel like denying what was between them, now that they'd found their way to each other.

"I'll keep it. You're a part of me, just like the tattoos are. I don't know who I'd be without you."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure." She took advantage of his distraction to pull off his shirt. Maybe he'd planned to stay fully dressed while he 'arrested' her, but she had other plans.

Once his shirt was clear of his head, he kissed her again, and she tasted every drop of his territorial lust on his lips, as if every time his mouth came down on hers, he was saying, Mine. Only mine. All mine.

She'd felt that before, from Oscar, but it wasn't the same. He'd been desperately trying to cling to a love that wasn't reciprocated. Remi had loved him, but Jane didn't. His possessiveness had felt like a command and an expectation, too weighty to be sexy, though the other things he did made up for it at the time.

Kurt's possessiveness felt like validation; his unspoken 'you are mine' resonating perfectly with her soul's silent 'I am yours'. Not only that, but she knew that if she turned the tables, her own kisses insisting that he was hers, she would receive his complete agreement in return. They belonged to each other.

Before she could test that theory, he drew back and spoke words that used to make her curl into herself in despair. "Turn around. Get down on your knees. Put your hands behind your head."

It was different this time—so different. Sure, for an instinctive second before logic kicked in, there was a moment where terror took hold. But that was part of the reason she was doing this—to fight that part of her that still twisted the moment Kurt had arrested her into her nightmares. Last night she had dreamed he'd put the cuffs on her for torturing Cade. It had brought back all the fears she'd thought she'd beaten, even though she knew she had Kurt's complete support.

But now, looking into his face—seeing his desire and concern mingled as he waited for her to either comply or speak her safeword—her fears faded almost completely. That terrible moment was in the past. This night was to create a better memory that she could use as a defence against her trauma. And she was ready to get started.

Slowly, she took a pace backward, turned her back to Kurt again, then dropped to her knees with as much grace as she could muster. After taking a moment to breathe, she laced her fingers together behind her head and closed her eyes.

The clink of Kurt's cuffs made her flinch just for a moment, reminding her of that night, but again, he changed everything. He knelt behind her, took one of her wrists in his gentle grip and kissed it before applying the cuff. The quiet click as the restraint closed made her heart skip with excitement, not fear, and as he repeated the motions with her other wrist—hold, kiss, cuff—her lips curved into a smile despite her nervousness.

Once he had her cuffed, her hands resting at the small of her back, Kurt wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her backwards into his lap. "Jane Doe," he murmured, "You are under arrest for stealing my heart."

He wasn't even trying to be serious. She loved his intensity during sex, but she also loved it when he laughed, and this was the perfect mix of the two. She couldn't help but laugh, wanting to roll her eyes at the ridiculous comment, and she knew that was exactly why he'd said it. The next time he arrested a criminal in front of her, she'd think only of this moment. God, I love you, Kurt.

She could play the struggling, unrepentant criminal, but she wasn't really the roleplay type. She did enough acting when she was undercover to want to bring it into her sex life. Now, she spoke the truth. "Given the chance, I'd do it again."

Kurt breathed silent laughter against her ear, then nipped her earlobe. "Bad girl."

With a little more wriggling, Jane managed to get her bound hands close enough to Kurt's hard-on to cop a feel, gratified by the way his breathing hitched at her touch. "Maybe I'd do it a little differently. But I'd definitely do it again."

"Hmm…" Kurt's touch slid up from her stomach to her breasts, his fingers barely skimming her nipples. Every momentary brush of his skin against them was electric, and she made a tiny, frustrated noise as he refused to give her anything more. Why did she love this so much, even though he made her so impatient?

She tried to get a proper grip on his zipper, but Kurt lifted her off his lap before she could do anything. He pulled her up onto her feet and supported her until she got her balance, then stepped back.

"You are so damn beautiful."

Thankful she didn't blush easily, Jane let her gaze wander over him in return. When she'd first seen him, she'd had no inkling that his presence in her life would become so vital to her, but she'd still found him attractive amidst her confusion and distress. Watching him now, shirtless and obviously hard for her beneath his jeans, she was completely aware of how important he was to her, and her sexual frustration was off the scale.

"Kurt…"

"Don't rush me." He cupped her face in his hand and gave her a lingering kiss. "Now, I have absolutely no cause to take you to the NYO, so I have to ask. Do you want out of the cuffs?"

Jane tested the restraints, trying to get a feel for her comfort level. As long as she focused on now, on Kurt, on the support he was offering, she would be okay. There was a part of her mind that tried to serve up distressing memories of her arrest and captivity, but she stubbornly held them at bay.

"I'm coping," she said. "Or at least, I will be if you keep me distracted…"

Kurt smiled. "I think I can do that. Take a step backward and sit on the bed."

Carefully, knowing she couldn't put out her hands to save herself if she fell, Jane managed to do what he'd asked.

As soon as she was fully settled, Kurt came forward to kneel between her legs. For a moment, Jane was struck by how submissive he looked, almost worshipful. He was the one who'd put the cuffs on her, but she was the one in control here. One word from her, and he'd release her immediately.

Then her brain shorted out completely as Kurt pressed his lips to her clit in a soft, playful kiss.

She fell backward to rest her weight on her elbows, draping one leg over his shoulder and bracing her other heel against the mattress. He was so much more than just distracting—he was provocative, maddening, bringing her right to the edge of orgasm but then pulling away before she could tip over the edge. Just as she came down enough to remember how to gasp a frustrated curse, he started again, his talented fingers and tongue making her moan in purely carnal appreciation.

Four times, he brought her to the edge and backed off—or was it five? She didn't know or care anymore. She pulled at her cuffs, wishing more than anything that she could break free and make him finish what he'd started, but without something to use as a lock-pick, she was powerless.

She struggled against the restraints again, and Keaton's mocking face flashed into her mind. Her desperation in this moment was worlds away from the despair she'd endured back then—as she'd wrenched at her cuffs on her way to be tortured—but there were enough common elements to trigger the association in her traumatised brain.

"Kurt, I'm not okay."

It wasn't the safeword they'd agreed on, but within a couple of seconds she was in his arms, one of the cuffs unsnapping—had he had the key in his hand this whole time?—and his voice softly speaking words of comfort she could barely register.

She blinked back tears and clung to him, her panicked adrenaline quickly fading as he soothed her, until she felt as though she'd overreacted and drew back to apologise. "Kurt, I—"

"I'm sorry, Jane."

With a shock, she realised he was blaming himself—for something that she'd pushed herself to do through her own overconfidence.

"No, I'm sorry. It wasn't you, it was the cuffs. I struggled and it just…reminded me of the black site." Jane shook her head. "Up until then, I was right where you wanted me."

He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away tears from her eyelashes. "I shouldn't have held out on you."

"You didn't know. We didn't know. But now we do." Jane kissed him, reassuring them both.

"Here. Let me get this." Kurt took hold of her wrist, about to release the second cuff, but she stopped him, determined to salvage something from the mess she'd made of tonight.

"I have a better idea." Slowly, giving him plenty of time to object, she placed the vacant cuff around his wrist and snapped it shut, shackling his left wrist to her right.

"You good?" he asked, tilting up her chin to search her face.

She nodded. "I still want you. If I didn't completely ruin the mood—"

Kurt interrupted her with a brief, hungry kiss. "It's gonna be a little difficult taking off my pants with my wrist cuffed, but if you can help…"

"I think I'm up for that challenge," she teased, feeling her world re-stabilise with every second that passed.

It was surprisingly sexy to drag down his zipper with the hand that was tethered to his. She couldn't help but take his cock in that same hand, her stroking motion dragging his wrist along with hers. The novelty of that moment helped to ground her, and his sigh of pleasure definitely helped, as well.

Somehow, they managed to get his remaining clothes off, laughing at how clumsy they were. When Jane straddled his lap and reached down to guide him deep inside her, Kurt groaned against her lips. "I never get tired of being this close to you."

She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, then burst out laughing again as she almost twisted Kurt's arm off in the process. "You know, this was a sexy idea, but it's kind of awkward, too."

Kurt rested his cuffed hand over her heart, and there was just enough slack in the cuffs for her to reach his chest in return. "Sexy and awkward. Isn't that our whole MO?"

Jane rested her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck gently. "Gonna help me to fuck you now?" she asked, intentionally using filthy language to drive him crazy.

His free hand tightened on her ass, the barest hint of a growl in his voice as he told her, "Yes, ma'am."

It was harder to ride him without using both hands to brace herself against his shoulders, and he only had one hand to support her as she moved. But their laughter as he fell backwards onto his back, her discovery that she could pin his arm to the bed to support herself, and his appreciative groan as she found a steady, seductive rhythm in their new position made the awkwardness worth it.

She finally took the orgasm he'd held back from her, her back arching sinuously with pleasure as she savoured each ebbing pulse of the climax. When she recovered her senses, Kurt was gazing at her with such heat and tenderness that an extra shiver tingled through her.

"Worth the wait?" he asked, pulling her down for a kiss.

"Mmmm…" She bucked against him lazily, still coming down. "Your turn now."

He hesitated. "I don't know if I should pin you down right now."

His caution was touching, but totally unnecessary. "Trust me."

Kurt rolled her onto her back easily. Amidst the sudden disorientation, she caught a glimpse of his grin, but then she was lost in the rhythm of his quick, powerful thrusts, digging her heels into his ass and lacing the fingers of her cuffed hand through his as they rocked together. Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment except his body against her, inside her, his heat and scent and presence surrounding her. As he lost control and ground his hips hard against hers, his body shuddering with release, she cried out along with him, his ecstasy the tipping point she needed to get off again.

"How do you feel?" Kurt asked, a few minutes later.

"Better. I really am sorry for—"

"No, Jane." He gazed down at her, eyes concerned but his expression firm. "You never have to apologise for that."

Her body was still resonant with satisfaction, her mind still lazy from residual pleasure. If she'd had the will to argue, she probably would have, but she couldn't muster the energy. "Okay."

He unlocked the cuffs—first hers, then his—and set them on the nightstand, the key on top of them. Together, they slid under the bedcovers and wrapped their arms around each other, holding tight.

"This isn't the first time I've been in your bed," Kurt confessed.

Jane drew back to look at him, confused. "When…?"

"Technically, I was on your bed, I guess. While you were…away. I came here to prove to myself that I didn't miss you, and ended up lying here, thinking about how your pillow still smelled like you."

"But you didn't miss me," she teased lightly, though her heart squeezed as she imagined the heartbroken anger he must have felt at a situation he had yet to fully comprehend.

"Not even a tiny bit," he said, amusement in his eyes.

"I missed you, too," Jane confessed. "Every day."

"We're here now," he said, stroking her hair back from her eyes.

"A little worse for wear, but…"

"I don't care. I want all of you. Even the damaged parts."

"Thank you," she whispered, blinking rapidly to stave off tears.

They fell asleep holding hands, the cuffs discarded but their bond strengthened.


	55. Not Quite Tourists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Nas deal with an unexpected tail in Sofia, Bulgaria, while Jane demands to know why she's being left out of the loop.

**Sofia, Bulgaria**

"Wow." Jane's voice was quiet, but reverent. "The architecture here is amazing."

Kurt glanced over to find her spinning slowly to look at the buildings around them, her expression almost reverent. For a moment, it seemed strange that someone who was so well-travelled should be so struck by the scenery, but then he remembered.

"You don't remember ever having seen foreign architecture in person before, right?"

"Not really. And we went to Turkey last year, but not any actual cities. The plane we found was pretty much in the middle of nowhere." Distractedly, Jane shifted her backpack on her shoulder, still taking in the old, intricately detailed European architecture. "I know we have to get Winter back to the States, if he's actually here, but do you think we'd have time to visit the cathedral or St. George's Rotunda?"

Nas gave her an apologetic look. "We'll have to see how things pan out. If we find Winter right away, we'll have to extradite him immediately. We won't have time for sightseeing."

Jane nodded, accepting this. "Wish I'd brought my sketchbook," she said wistfully, but kept walking.

A couple of hundred feet farther down the road, Kurt happened to glance backward, and caught a glimpse of a man in a hat and sunglasses ducking out of sight behind an outdoor display. He looked at the other members of his team, wondering if he was just being paranoid.

Jane seemed oblivious, still soaking in the atmosphere and admiring their surroundings. If not for the novelty, Kurt was pretty sure she would have caught on to their pursuer before he had, but today she was off her game.

Reade was busy coordinating with Caruso, their agent on the ground, by text message, and didn't seem concerned either. But Nas gave Kurt a very subtle nod when he caught her eye. She'd noticed, too.

They continued walking, Reade and Jane exchanging the odd comment now and then. When Kurt stopped to look at a rack of postcards, as an excuse to look back the way they'd come, he caught sight of the guy again. Something about his body language seemed familiar to Kurt. Who was he?

The guy obviously sensed he'd been made. Exasperated, he abandoned the charade, not approaching, but taking off his hat and sunglasses to reveal his identity.

Jake Keaton. Kurt's counterpart in the CIA, and Jane's torturer.

_Shit._

Jane was taking advantage of their pause to take a photograph of the downward-sloping street ahead of them, possibly to use as a reference for a sketch later. He beckoned Reade over, hoping she wouldn't notice.

Reade raised an eyebrow in question as he reached Weller's side.

"We have a tail. It's Keaton from the CIA, the guy who tortured Jane. I need you to take her ahead to Caruso, get her out of here while Nas and I go talk to him. If she suspects something's going on, do _not_ let her know it's Keaton. Clear?"

Reade nodded, remaining outwardly relaxed as his gaze sharpened. "Absolutely." After a glance at Jane to make sure she hadn't noticed their exchange, he stepped away from Weller again.

Nas strode towards Keaton, who had re-donned his 'disguise', possibly because of Jane's presence. The NSA agent took his arm and began to guide him down the street in the opposite direction, making no effort to hide her tension.

As soon as Keaton had been obscured by the crowd, Kurt called, "Jane. Reade."

They both came to his side. Jane wore a slight frown, as though she suspected something was going down, but wasn't sure what.

"I need you both to go ahead to the safehouse and find Caruso."

"What's up?" Jane asked.

"Nas said she saw someone she knew and took off. Usually I'd just let her catch up, but since we're here for Winter, I want to make sure she's not meeting NSA backup to try to get him back to them before we can find him." He made a mental note to apologise to Nas later for the implication that she might be double-crossing them, but right now, he'd say anything to get Jane out of here.

"If that's the case, you shouldn't go alone," Jane protested.

Reade stepped in. "Come on, Jane. You speak Bulgarian. If I get lost, I might need you to ask for directions." He took a step back, indicating with his body language that he was ready to leave. "Be careful, Weller."

Jane moved to go after him, shooting a concerned, slightly suspicious look Kurt's way before walking off.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Kurt stalked back the way they'd come, looking over his shoulder once to make sure they'd really gone. He'd have some explaining to do later, but right now, he had other concerns.

Nas called his name from an alleyway. "We're down here."

Kurt turned and followed her down the alley towards a small, deserted courtyard. "Any problems sending Jane ahead?" she asked tersely.

"She's suspicious, but I've filled Reade in. He'll keep her going in the right direction."

"Well, if it isn't Kurt Weller, FBI," Keaton said, his smile antagonistic.

His reference to the words on Jane's back incensed Kurt. Losing his grip on the thin veneer of control he had left, he grabbed Keaton by the collar and snarled, "What the hell are you doing here, Keaton? Do you have any idea what you almost did?"

"Oh, relax. I didn't come here for drama. I wasn't going to let her see me." Keaton rolled his eyes.

"You almost did."

"He's here for Winter, same as us," Nas cut in, getting to the heart of things. "Apparently, he couldn't come up with his own leads, so he decided to follow us once he found out we'd spoken to Winter's ex."

Kurt released him with a shove. "You might as well just go home, Keaton. Winter's coming with us. If you get hold of him, you'll just bundle him into a black site and not share any of the intel with any of us."

"Yeah, like the FBI and the NSA are _so_ happy to share information outside their own spheres," Keaton said sarcastically.

"Get out of this city, Keaton. I'm not saying this as a law enforcement agent; I'm saying it as someone capable of empathy. Jane has post-traumatic stress disorder because of what you did to her. She can't sleep for more than a few hours without nightmares about you. She's made so much progress since she got out, but if she sees you, she will relapse. Badly."

Keaton shifted his weight, though it was impossible to tell if he was actually uncomfortable with the implications. His expression never changed from its usual smugness.

Before he could say anything, Nas chipped in. "Speaking _as_ a law enforcement agent, I'd like to remind you, Deputy Director Keaton, that I'm running an exceedingly delicate operation at the moment. Jane is key to that operation as an undercover asset, and if anything were to shake her mental state further, it would put the entire thing at risk. I have to insist that you step back. Send other agents if your pride really can't stand it, but I think it would be best if you left Sofia entirely."

Keaton licked his lips. Her argument was obviously far more effective than Weller's, but he was a stubborn bastard.

Kurt tried one more time, all attempts at diplomacy gone. "I swear, Keaton, if she sees you, I will end you. Assuming Jane doesn't do it first."

Unable to stand being in his presence for a moment more, Kurt left as abruptly as he'd arrived, leaving Nas to do damage control if she felt it necessary. At the other end of the alley, he stopped to breathe, finally letting himself feel a moment of terror at the traumatic encounter Jane had narrowly avoided. What would she do if she found out Keaton had been within fifty feet of her? If she saw him later, would she lapse into panic?

Nas joined him a moment later, and they stepped out onto the street, joining the throng of tourists who meandered down the street.

"Well, that could have gone better," she said, with forced lightness.

"He'd better stay the hell away from her."

"Do you really think she'll react that badly?" Nas asked. "Or are you being overprotective because she's your girlfriend?"

Chafing at the implication that his investment in Jane's wellbeing was a weakness, Kurt snapped, "Nas, you haven't seen her in the middle of a panic attack, or during one of her nightmares. She's completely without reason, scared out of her mind. And if she relapses, I don't know if she'll be able to carry on the ruse as Remi. I really don't."

"All right. We'll just have to make sure Keaton doesn't get anywhere near her, won't we?" Nas gave him what was meant to be a supportive smile.

Weller was far from reassured.

* * *

"Do you guys all think I'm stupid?" Jane asked Reade, her relaxed attitude from earlier completely gone.

Reade shot her a look that was almost guilty, hidden under a casual air. "Huh? What are you getting at?"

She sighed. "Do you think I didn't notice Kurt beckoning you over before he called us both? Just because I was admiring the architecture doesn't mean I'm completely out of it, you know. What is going on?"

He abandoned his pretence, muttering, "Zapata is so much better at this stuff than I am."

"What are Weller and Nas up to, and why don't they want me to know about it?" Jane demanded.

"Okay, look. First off, you and Weller are so bad at hiding your new relationship, it's ridiculous, so you might as well just stop it."

Blindsided, Jane stared at him. "Does everyone know?"

"Just the taskforce, I think. If we were still working out of SIOC, it probably _would_ be everyone."

Jane kicked herself for not discussing with Kurt what to say if this ever came up. She went with the truth. "We wanted to keep it a secret before I can reveal it to Sandstorm without it raising flags."

Reade nodded slowly. "That's smart. I guess Remi wouldn't jump straight into something with Weller right after her fiancé was murdered."

"Especially not right after her fiancé's supposed killer just escaped from her custody," Jane agreed. She hesitated, then said, "I also…was kind of worried about what you guys would think. After everything that happened before the black site."

Reade snorted. "Jane, there was never any doubt in any of our minds that you two would find your way back to each other. He is so far gone when it comes to you."

Jane blinked rapidly, trying to process this. "Really? Even after everything that's happened? Because _I_ didn't know we'd ever get back here."

"We watched him angst for three solid months, and then jump on every possible lead he had to get you back. And sure, once the truth about the Oscar stuff came out, he was angry, but he just couldn't help himself. Anything you needed, he was there."

"I know," Jane said softly. "It was more than I deserved."

Reade shrugged. "He was carrying a lot of guilt around about you getting taken after you were arrested. Which we all told him he shouldn't have done, by the way. Not until he had something to actually arrest you for."

"Believe me, we've had that discussion." Jane gave him a rueful look. "I'm sorry. That you're stuck spectating our drama."

He smiled a little. "Hey, it adds some interest and some eye-rolls to our day. Don't worry about it."

They turned a corner before Jane purposefully steered back to the point he'd almost succeeded in distracting her from. "So are you going to tell me what the hell's going on now, or…?"

Reade groaned. "Jane, trust me when I say you don't need to know. Weller and Nas are checking something out, that's all."

"No. Kurt sent me ahead on purpose. Is this Sandstorm-related? What's going on?"

"He didn't give me the details. It might even be what he said it was. All he said is to get you out of here while he and Nas followed something up, and he'd explain later." Reade shook his head. "And we really do need to check in with Caruso. It's not like we're being sent on some kind of pointless errand while they do the real work. Don't get bent out of shape so easily, okay?"

"You're not usually this laid back about not knowing the details," Jane pointed out, still suspicious.

"Hey, I'm on a working vacation. I'm enjoying the change of scenery. Weller has never kept me out of the loop without it being necessary, and he'll fill us in later. Meanwhile, we get to act like tourists on our way to work. It's all good."

Jane didn't buy it, but it was clear that Reade wasn't budging. She'd have to get the real reason for their team dividing into two parties later—and she wouldn't give in until Weller told her the truth.

 


	56. Imagine That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane reluctantly agrees to Kurt's mysterious demand that she stay away from the hotel, and Kurt unexpectedly has to deal with his grief over Mayfair's death.

The second their agent on the ground, Caruso, had finished bringing Kurt and Nas up to speed with the rest of them, Jane cleared her throat. "Weller, could I have a word?"

Looking resigned, Kurt nodded. In silence, they headed into the next room.

Jane shut the door firmly behind them and spun to glare at Kurt. "What the hell is going on?"

"Jane, I—"

"No, let me finish before you start." Unsure whether she was angry or hurt, she folded her arms across her chest and tried to put her confusion into words. "I don't have a problem with you splitting up the team, or being partnered with Reade. But it's pretty clear to me that I'm being left out of the loop here, and I don't understand why. I thought we might have a tail back there, but I didn't get a good look at the guy. But then you give Reade instructions like I need to be protected or distracted, and Nas is gone, and you take off after her…" She shook her head. "I want the truth. Now."

Kurt took a breath before answering, as though knowing he was about to make things worse. "I can't tell you, Jane."

Incredulous, she stared at him. "We just finished repairing our relationship after we both kept secrets from each other, and you won't tell me what this is about? How am I supposed to trust you when you shared information with Nas and Reade, but you're keeping me out of it?"

"I know it seems like a betrayal. If I were in your shoes, I'd be pissed too."

"Then why—?"

"Two days," he interrupted. "Just give me two days, Jane. Let me handle this, and the second we get back home, to one of our apartments, I will tell you everything. I swear."

His intensity shook her. He almost looked desperate, and she instinctively reached out to take his hand, unable to ignore his distress. "Kurt, I don't understand."

"Something has changed, and I need you to stay away from this. Go sightseeing. Buy a sketchbook and draw the scenery. We can handle the operation without you; Caruso can step in."

Jane frowned down at their linked fingers. "Is this Sandstorm-related?"

"Kind of," he admitted.

"Then I should know."

"Two days," he said again. "I know this is a lot to ask. But I'm not trying to cover up some kind of personal indiscretion, or keeping secrets about your identity. I'm not doubting your abilities or your training. I fully intend to tell you what's going on. But I need to get this op done first. If things go sideways here, we could lose Winter and you could end up breaking your cover with Sandstorm."

"You're asking me for a pretty big leap of faith, here," Jane said. Her anger was mostly gone; it was clear that Kurt had a good reason for what he was asking, even if he wouldn't tell her what it was. And after all she'd done to maintain her cover as Remi, she didn't want to burn herself now.

"I know. And I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." He drew their joined hands towards his chest, until she could feel the steady beat of his heart under her palm. "If you only do one thing that I ask ever again, make it this. Please, Jane. Trust me."

Jane swallowed, her stubborn streak warring with her feelings for Kurt. Something within her gave way, and she sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Okay. I do trust you. But when I find out what this is about, if I don't agree that it was worth keeping me out of, that trust is gonna be gone."

Kurt nodded and pulled her into a tight, relieved hug. Jane returned it, turning over possibilities in her head and coming up blank. Was someone from Sandstorm here? But she'd told Roman she was going to be here, so that shouldn't be an issue…

She gave up on trying to figure it out for now, letting her eyes fall closed as she basked in Kurt's warmth. Why did it feel as though she was comforting him? None of this made any sense.

"Oh, by the way," she said, "The team knows about us. Apparently we suck at hiding it."

Kurt drew back, his eyebrows raised. "Wait. They know? Does that mean everyone knows?" _And we can stop hiding?_ He didn't have to speak the last words for Jane to know they were there.

"Just the taskforce, according to Reade. And don't forget, we still have to make Sandstorm buy it without them suspecting Remi has switched sides."

He sighed. "I know."

Impulsively, Jane leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his lips, the last of her anger having drained away. "Go finish this so we can go home and start working on that."

He leaned in for a second kiss, not quite as light, sparking the beginnings of arousal in her lower belly. "What are you going to do? Go sightseeing?"

"No. I'm gonna be monitoring your comms so I can come in if you need emergency backup."

He drew away fast, alarm in his face. "No. Jane, you can _not_ go anywhere near that hotel. You just promised."

"I will only come in if your lives are at risk." Knowing exactly what he was about to say, she held up a hand before he could say it. "Not some bullshit interpretation of the situation, like when I disobeyed your orders to try to take down that guy instead of waiting in the car. I mean if you're really, truly at the end of your rope, and someone is injured, or you're outnumbered five to one, or something."

"Okay." He nodded reluctantly. "We need to trust each other on this. You're trusting me that you shouldn't be out there, so I'll trust you that you won't jump the gun on being backup."

She gave a small, awkward smile. "All this trust. It's almost like we're a couple or something."

His answering smile was strong and affectionate, melting her heart. "Imagine that."

Jane pressed forward against him as they kissed, this time for long, dizzying moments. Before either of them could get too distracted, though, a rap on the closed door interrupted them.

"Hey. You two better not be getting naked in there—we've still got a job to do, remember?" Reade called.

Kurt released her reluctantly. "Time to get to work."

Jane lingered after he left, making sure her hair wasn't mussed in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Then she joined the others in the next room, meeting their questioning looks with a resigned, "I've agreed to be benched. What's next?"

* * *

Kurt's adrenaline was running high as they unzipped the bag to release Winter. Not only had they managed to break him out past the Bulgarian mercenaries who were keeping him prisoner—using a large, rolling suitcase to disguise his extraction—but Jane had stayed away as she'd promised, Keaton had failed to intercept them, and Winter had already admitted he'd been in contact with Mayfair.

Winter crawled out of the bag with a grimace of pain as Jane appeared in the doorway. "Everything go okay after you came off comms?"

"I think I popped a rib," Winter complained, grimacing and staggering over to a chair. He glanced up at Jane and did a double-take. "Nice tattoos."

"Uh, thanks." She looked from Nas to Reade and back to Kurt. "Are we sure this is him?"

"I'm definitely Douglas Winter. And like I told these other guys, I was framed. I didn't leak those documents."

"Yeah, I know what you said. I was listening in." Jane caught Kurt's eye. "How do you wanna do this?"

"I'll take notes," Nas said, pulling out a notepad. "Caruso and Reade are switching our getaway vehicle for something new to get us back to the airport."

"Can I get some real food first?" Winter asked plaintively.

"No," Kurt said immediately, kicking the bag aside and pulling up a chair opposite him.

This guy wasn't quite as bad as Rich Dotcom, but the two of them would have gotten along famously. They even both seemed to have crushes on him. Jane had probably been snickering as she'd listened in on their comms.

"Get to the part where you have proof that you were framed for the information leak," Kurt said.

"Okay, okay. So, I was messing around on my guitar, which was a Les Paul knockoff…"

As the team listened incredulously, Winter related how two masked assailants using voice modulators had broken into his apartment, held him at gunpoint, then uploaded the classified files to his laptop and sent an email containing them to the New York Times.

When he fell silent, Kurt could sense Nas' exasperation with the guy. Before she could really begin to lose her cool, he said, "That's a great story, but it's not proof."

"No, but this is." Winter smiled and unsnapped one of the arms from his spectacles. Inside was a tiny chip that Nas seized the moment he held it out. She turned to a computer and began to access the information as Winter explained, "I was playing my guitar into my Rock Composer app, and it recorded the whole thing."

"You could have faked the recording," Jane said dubiously, looking over Nas' shoulder.

"I'll get Patterson to un-modulate the voices, see if they match anything in the FBI database," Nas muttered, already typing an email.

Kurt still had questions. "Is this why you contacted Mayfair? To prove your innocence?"

Winter shifted. "Yeah, man—Mayfair, he was the only person I could trust."

The clatter of Nas' keyboard ceased for a split-second before she continued typing. Jane stepped into Kurt's peripheral vision, but remained silent.

And Kurt felt as though someone had just slugged him in the gut. "Mayfair was a she," he said tersely, hoping the guy had just mispronounced the pronoun, and would go on to provide more details about his association with their old boss.

Instead, Winter looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "No, yeah, I know that. That's why—"

"You know that?" Jane said sharply.

"I do know that. She… she was beautiful—"

Mayfair would have snorted at the idea that she was beautiful, maybe rolled her eyes. She hadn't been unattractive, but beauty wasn't the first thing you'd mention about her. A wave of unexpected loss and grief swept through Kurt, stealing his breath for a moment.

"Okay, maybe I have no idea who Mayfair is, but it seemed important to you, and I needed your help to get me out of there, and the rest is totally true. Check the drive—just check the drive."

Kurt stood up slowly, tuning Winter out. He needed to process this. "Nas—you got this?"

"Absolutely." Nas glanced over, then nodded, understanding dawning. "Take some time. I'll let you know when Reade gets in touch."

Kurt turned towards the door and caught sight of Jane's face. She looked subtly devastated in her own way, but as much as he wanted to reach out, he didn't think he could right now. He had to be alone.

As he left the room, her hand slid up his forearm and squeezed, then released him. A silent gesture of comfort that he appreciated more than he could express.

The room farthest away from Winter, who had begun to babble again, was a bedroom. Kurt shut the door, muting Winter's voice. He sank down on the end of the bed, staring blankly at nothing.

God, he missed Mayfair. With everything that had happened, his grieving for her had been disrupted, distracted. He hadn't realised how high his hopes had been for this mission until Winter had deflated them with a few clumsy words.

He saw Mayfair's face in his mind's eye. She was shaking her head sadly, as though she knew how much he still wanted to lean on her, depend on her, ask her for guidance about the whole Sandstorm mess. _I'd help you if I could_ , her expression seemed to say, _but I'm dead. You know that. You have to go on without me._

Kurt dropped his head into his hands, finally accepting the truth. The hard, complex knot of grief in his chest seemed to loosen as he allowed his tears to fall.

 


	57. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane supports Kurt as he grieves for Mayfair.

“Right,” Nas said wearily, “Patterson is working on the file. Mr. Winter, there’s going to be a delay while we wait for your transport. We only really have junk food for now, but help yourself.”

While Winter dove into the box of snacks Caruso had brought over earlier, still running his mouth—did the man ever shut up?— Nas sat down on the couch beside Jane.

“I would have thought you’d want to go after Weller,” she said softly. “You really don’t have to babysit me with Winter, Jane. The NSA were very interested in acquiring him, it’s true, but with this evidence that it was a frame job, he’s nowhere near valuable enough to want to spirit away from all the other agencies.”

Jane looked toward the door, conflicted. “It’s… It’s not that.” After checking Winter was still lost in his own self-involved bubble, she admitted, “I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to him while he’s upset about this Mayfair lead coming to nothing.”

“Ahhh.” Nas gave her a sympathetic smile. “It has to be hard on you, too. I know you thought very highly of Mayfair.”

“She was amazing. I owe her so much, and I…” A lump formed in Jane’s throat, and she swallowed determinedly. “I didn’t realise how much Kurt was depending on the idea that she might have confided in Winter until now. He’s really not taking it well.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you should go to him. He’ll appreciate your support.”

Jane hesitated. “With anything else, that might be true. But I was partly responsible for her death. How can he want to see me after that?”

Nas stood up again as her laptop chimed. “It’s up to you. But why not go and ask if he needs anything? If he sends you away, fair enough. At least you will have tried to be there for him.”

Nas became engrossed in her laptop again, as Winter watched some sort of Bulgarian soap opera—with enthusiastic commentary aimed at anyone who would listen. After a few moments, Jane headed down the hallway to the only closed door.

Her stomach churning, she gave a quiet knock, then called through the door, “Kurt? It’s me.”

He didn’t yell at her to give him some space, which she took as encouragement to open the door and step into the dimly lit room.

Kurt was sitting on the end of the bed, his body language defeated. He looked up as she approached, and Jane realised with a jolt that he’d been crying. “Oh, Kurt…”

Quickly, she retraced her steps to shut the door, giving them some privacy. Then she returned to his side, standing uncertainly, unsure of her welcome. Laying a tentative hand between his shoulder blades, she asked, “Is it okay that I’m here?”

He shot her a bemused look and reached out to pull her down to sit with him. “Of course.”

Jane pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder, and stroked his hair, the way he had so many times with her. A shuddering sigh went through him as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I know she’s gone, but this case… Part of me hoped that she’d have an answer for me one last time. About why Sandstorm has been watching me, or about Orion, or Daylight… But Winter never even met her. There was never a chance.”

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Jane murmured, her heart aching for him. Mayfair had become a rock for her, but she’d been practically family to Kurt. A mentor, a friend, a mother figure…and Jane had been instrumental in taking her away from him.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he said. “I just miss her so much. I still can’t believe she’s gone sometimes, you know? I’ll walk into her office— _my_ office—and expect her to be sitting behind the desk, asking for a situation report.”

Jane took a deep breath and asked, “Would you rather…I left? I can understand why I might not be the best person to talk to about this. Maybe when Reade gets back…”

Kurt sat upright again so he could get a good look at her. “Why would—? Oh, Jane, no. None of this is your fault.”

And now she’d selfishly changed the focus of the conversation to herself, yet again. Wishing she could take back her words, that she’d just listened to what was going through his mind, she shook her head. “I don’t want to make this about me. I just wanted to check I wasn’t pushing myself into your grief and making it worse.”

Kurt took her hand. “I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

“Sometimes I feel so guilty that I am,” she admitted. “Don’t you worry that Mayfair would disapprove of us being together?”

To her surprise, Kurt looked amused. “Mayfair disapproved of a lot of things I did or didn’t do. She never said ‘I told you so’ with her voice, but you could read between the lines. She questioned my objectivity on your case more than once.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Jane asked hesitantly.

“She would have come around.”

Somehow, Jane doubted that. Mayfair’s last moments would be etched inside her mind forever—the shock, the distrust, the rage and hurt. “I wish I was so sure. Even in her last moments, she was trying to protect you, Kurt. From me.”

Kurt swallowed hard as he absorbed that information. “She didn’t have the facts, Jane. What she said and did was based on what she thought she knew, not the truth. In time, she would have known better.”

Jane nodded, wishing she could believe that.

“Mayfair used to say that everyone gets one mistake. What happened with Oscar would have been yours.” He laughed softly. “I’m not saying she wouldn’t have held it over you, or taken a while to trust you again. We all needed that. But she would have understood that you did what you could in a difficult situation, and that you were operating blind. She would have forgiven you, like the rest of the team’s starting to. Like I already have.”

“Thank you,” Jane whispered, fighting back tears. “I’ll make sure I’m worthy of it.”

“I already know you are.” He took her other hand, raised both of them to his lips and kissed the knuckles of each one. “I love you, Jane. I have for a long time.”

Every coherent thought fled her mind. She’d already known—it had been impossible to miss—but hearing him say it was something she hadn’t anticipated for this moment. She wanted to say it back, wanted to make sure he knew she’d already guessed, but the swell of emotion in her chest stole her voice. She could only give a tiny, sobbing gasp.

He brought their hands back down towards their laps, his eyes on that motion rather than on her. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and you’re still processing it all, and I don’t expect you to—”

Jane couldn’t bear to watch him drawing into himself, thinking he’d put some sort of burden on her. Her words were missing, but she surged forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off with a hard, emphatic kiss, which softened and deepened into an expression of love in its own right.

Finally, Jane found her voice again. “I love you too, Kurt.” There were a million more things that she wanted to explain—how she’d never thought she deserved his love; how she’d tried to stop after her arrest, but he’d just kept breaking through her defences; how he made her feel like more than just an amnesiac terrorist struggling to earn her freedom—but right now, confessing her love was enough.

His wonder and happiness shone through his eyes as he gave her a soft smile she could only describe as lovestruck. Then reality hit, and a slightly rueful look crept into his expression. “We have the worst timing, huh? If we weren’t on standby for work…”

She laughed, knowing exactly where he was going with this. “When we get home, we can talk about it some more.”

“I really wasn’t thinking about talking,” he confessed, between teasing kisses over her neck.

Jane wrapped her arms around him, using the embrace to stop him from getting any further into foreplay. “I know. But Reade will be back any moment, and he already thinks I ruin your focus.”

Kurt sighed as he returned her hug. “Rain check, then.”

As though mentioning him had triggered it, their phones buzzed—a group text from Reade. He and Caruso had picked up a tail—the Bulgarian government’s hired muscle, assuming they had Winter with them. They’d successfully lost their pursuers, but wanted to lie low for an hour before risking the vehicle switch.

Between them—Nas joining in from the living room—they assured Reade that everything was fine here, and that they were in no danger. Then, knowing they had some time to kill but not wanting to get completely distracted, Jane glanced across at Kurt. “So how did you and Mayfair meet, anyway?”

Over the next hour, Kurt recounted a few different stories about Mayfair—how she’d recruited him to the NYO out of Quantico; how she’d never actually wanted a dog but had grown to love Felix; the way Reade and Zapata had vied for her approval when they’d first joined the FBI… Sometimes his words came easily, and sometimes grief choked up his voice, but Jane listened to every word, laughing and fighting tears right along with him.

“It feels good to talk about her,” he said. “Don’t ever feel like you can’t mention her to me, okay? She _would_ have forgiven you, Jane.”

Jane nodded, his conviction easing a little of her guilt. Before she could speak, though, the sound of a door opening at the other end of the apartment grabbed their attention, followed by Reade’s voice.

“Time to go to work,” Kurt said, standing up with a sigh.

Jane got to her feet too, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs before taking a step towards the door. Intercepting her, Kurt gave her a brief, tender kiss. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you. Let’s go home.”

It was the last stress-free moment Jane would experience for a long while.


	58. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane tries to keep out of the way, like she promised Kurt...but in the end, it just doesn't work out that way.

Reade and Caruso had only been back for a couple of minutes when someone killed the lights.

As red backup lighting flickered on, everyone stared at each other for a frozen instant, unable to process what was happening. Then Winter caught a glimpse of the security monitor, which had also flickered back to life with the emergency power.

“Oh, my God—it looks like Call of Duty down there!”

An alarming number of heavily armed people in dark clothing were about to infiltrate the building. Obviously, the safehouse wasn’t living up to its name.

Jane frowned over at Reade. “I thought you guys said you’d slipped your tail?”

“This isn’t the same people,” Nas said. “The Bulgarian forces carry AK-47s. These are HK-416s.”

“So who, then? You-Know-Who?” Reade asked, with an apologetic glance at Jane.

“What, Voldemort?” Winter asked, looking as though he wouldn’t be surprised if the fictional villain strode into the hallway.

Kurt stepped between Jane and the monitor, gently manoeuvring her backward. “Maybe. Just in case… Jane, I need you to guard Winter while we take care of this.”

Incredulous, she stared at him. “You _have_ to be kidding me. You need all the help you can get with them, Kurt.”

“Just be our last line of defence. Please. If this is related to what we talked about before, you already promised to trust me, remember?”

Hiding out with the suspect felt cowardly, especially knowing the others were going to be putting their lives on the line. But she swallowed her pride and nodded slowly. “Fine.”

“It’s for the best, Jane.” Nas reached out and flicked off the security monitor. “Trust us.”

“No peeking,” Reade added, with a nod at the dark screen.

Kurt was the last of the agents to leave the room. “We’ll handle it, and then we can go home and talk about it, okay?”

She nodded and leaned into his brief embrace. “Be careful.”

“Always am.” With a quick, grim smile, he drew his weapon and was gone.

Winter was pacing back and forth in front of the powered down security monitor. “I don’t even know what I did to deserve this. I know why they want me so bad, but why did someone decide to frame me so that they _would_ want me that bad?”

“You were probably convenient.” It took all of Jane’s willpower to turn away from the monitor instead of flicking it back on to check on the team’s safety. Only her promise to Kurt kept her from doing it, and the gravitas in his words.

_If you only do one thing that I ask ever again, make it this._

He wouldn’t have said that lightly. She had to trust him. Right?

Downstairs, the first gunshots rang out, and Jane lost part of the battle with herself. “I’ll be right outside the door. Stay here, okay?”

Then, trying not to feel like a wartime wife waiting for her loved one to return, she headed to the apartment’s entrance, hoping she could hear some indication of how the gunfight was going without actually being there.

The number of shots seemed endless, but she heard all of her team calling to each other, coordinating and covering each other.

“There are too many of them!” Nas called. “Weller? Plan B!”

Whatever plan B was, they communicated it silently to avoid letting their enemies in on it. A few gunshots later, Kurt called, “Caruso, you and I’ll hold ‘em off. Reade, Nas, get going.”

As footsteps came back up the stairs, glass crashed inside the apartment, and Jane darted back inside with a curse. Winter tore down the inner hallway like a cartoon mouse fleeing a cat, his eyes comically wide. “Someone’s coming in through the window! We’re so screwed!”

“Calm down and get behind me,” Jane ordered, double-checking the safety on her handgun.

Two of the mercenaries —because they had to be hired guns; they just didn’t have that law enforcement feel to them—took up positions on either side of the doorframe to the room Winter had been in. Jane found cover in one of the doorways farther down the hall, yanking Winter in with her, and crouched to subvert their expectations of where she’d reappear.

The first one fell with hardly any effort from her, but she winged the second guy, and he screamed out, retreating into deeper cover. After a few seconds, Nas and Reade returned to the apartment, and Jane used the merc’s distraction with his new targets to take a headshot.

“Nice shooting,” Nas said, cautiously joining her. “Any more?”

“I think it was just the two of them, but there could be more at any moment,” Jane said, standing from her crouch. “What’s the plan?”

“We get Winter down the back stairs and into the van before they realise we’re moving him,” Reade said.

“You don’t think they have the back stairs covered?” Jane asked, confused.

“Unless they have more guys I didn’t see, we took care of it already.”

“Reinforcements could be here any second. We should get going.” Nas held out her hand to Winter, who was cowering against the wall. “Stay close to me.”

“That was seriously the best opportunity to use ‘come with me if you want to live’ that I’ve ever seen, and you blew it,” Winter told her, taking her hand.

Nas rolled her eyes and pulled him after her down the hall.

“But, you know, I’m just grateful you’re here and everything… I’ll shut up and let you do your job now.”

“Back Nas up,” Jane said to Reade. “I’ll cover our rear.”

“Jane, I think you should stick with Winter. Weller will skin me alive if you—”

A barrage of gunshots from below interrupted them, and Jane thought she recognised a cry of agony as Caruso’s voice. Jane and Reade exchanged an alarmed look and headed for the door as one.

“Nas? Reade?” Kurt’s voice was ragged with stress.

As they followed Nas and Winter down the back stairwell, Jane longed to call out to him, but she bit her tongue, knowing he’d only worry if he heard her voice. Whatever it was about this mission that he was keeping her out of, it was important enough to him that his distraction might cost him his life.

“You guys good?” Reade called.

“Caruso’s down. Doesn’t look good.”

“I’ll go,” Nas said, and handed Winter off to them. “Get him to the van. Be careful. I think reinforcements might have got here sooner than we thought.”

She took the remaining few stairs quickly but silently, rounded the corner and was gone.

Jane and Reade herded Winter in the opposite direction when they reached the bottom, down a short hallway to the back door. Jane moved to take point, but Reade grabbed her arm.

“Nuh-uh. I’m on point.”

Jane bit back a groan and stepped back. This sudden protectiveness the team was displaying was getting old very fast.

Reade leaned out into the alley and withdrew immediately, cursing.

“How many?” Jane asked softly.

“Three. Maybe four.”

 _Maybe?_ Jane tried not to grind her teeth as he took a few careful shots. Reade was a great agent, but ‘maybe’ could get them all killed. If she’d been the one scoping things out…

She killed the frustrated thought, knowing she was being unfair, and motioned Winter closer to the door.

Reade took a breather to reload. “Okay, two left. Both farther down from the van. I’ll hold them off. You can use it as cover and get inside with Winter.”

There was no way in hell she was cowering in a van with Winter, but she nodded as Reade headed out to crouch behind an abandoned freezer.

“Stay there,” she told Winter. “Let me get the door open, and when I tell you it’s time, run straight to the back of the van and get in, okay?”

Winter nodded, pale-faced.

Jane used a break in the gunfire to dart across to the back of the van. The alley ended in a chainlink fence covered with plywood on one side, so she didn’t have to worry about being shot from behind as she opened one of the van’s back doors.

After that, it was all timing. Winter tripped on his shoelace as he crossed from the apartment doorway to the back of the van, but Jane caught him as he pitched forward and yanked him the rest of the way. Once they were both inside, she pulled the door almost all the way shut before she gave him a quick visual sweep for injuries. He’d come out of this miraculously unscathed so far—one less thing to worry about.

Now she could check on Reade.

“Stay _down_ ,” she ordered. “They can still shoot you if they see you through the front windshield.”

Winter curled into the back corner of the van as Jane opened the door again. She was about to call out to see if Reade needed a hand when she caught sight of someone moving into the apartment block’s back hall. It definitely wasn’t Reade—he was still drawing fire from the last stubborn holdout down the alley.

Jane went after the newcomer, knowing she didn’t have a choice. Kurt might not like it that she was going into the fray, but while he trusted that she and Reade had the back entrance covered, this guy could sneak up on him.

She reached the stairs in time to see that the guy had a weapon drawn—a handgun, not a rifle—and he was going…up? Did he think Winter was still in the safehouse apartment?

There was something familiar about the way he moved. The knowledge itched at the back of her brain as she followed him, trying to be as stealthy as possible, hoping she could choke him out quietly, in case there was anyone else who’d gone up while she was in the van.

It dawned on her that this was probably the person Reade had referred to as ‘You-Know-Who’—the person Kurt was trying to keep her from seeing—but it was too late now. There was nothing to stop him from doubling back and shooting Kurt and Nas, if that was what he wanted. She was committed to this course of action if she wanted to protect her team.

The guy above her reached the landing and must have seen the open safehouse door. He muttered a curse—quietly, but in a voice she would never, ever forget.

 _He_ was here.

Keaton, the deputy director of the CIA.

Jake, the man who’d sadistically tortured her for three hopeless months.

_I’m not going back. I can’t go back. I will die first._

Jane lost all grip on reason. Her skin prickled and her senses went into overdrive. She forgot about her team, about the mission, about the other assailants below. The only thought in her head was that she had to neutralise this threat, before it neutralised her.

She had a loaded gun in her hand, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. Stopping, lining up a good shot and pulling the trigger felt like it would take time she didn’t have. Her muscles were coiled—she needed to _move_.

Taking the last few steps swiftly, she raised her gun in preparation to pistol-whip him around the back of the head. A creaking floorboard gave her away, and Keaton began to turn, throwing off the accuracy of her strike. It only stunned him instead of knocking him out, and that terrified her even more. A new shot of adrenaline gave her a surge of strength, and her instincts took over.

She dragged him into the apartment, slammed the door and engaged the bolt while Keaton was still reeling. As he began to recover, she kicked his gun out of his hand, then slammed her knee into his diaphragm, winding him.

By the time he could have retaliated, she had him cuffed to the first sturdy metal construct she could find—the pipe connecting the hallway radiator to the apartment’s hot water supply. He was still coughing and dazed, bleeding freely from a head wound that probably wasn’t as bad as it looked—not that she gave a damn—which gave her time to grab the box of cable ties stashed in the supplies Caruso had brought up to the safehouse. She had his legs tied together before he could start kicking, and after a quick body search to ensure she’d gotten all of his weapons, she was finally sure he was secure.

That was when her stomach rebelled, and she stumbled into the bathroom to vomit.


	59. Switching Roles

Staring at her pale face in the mirror over the bathroom washbasin, Jane fought back another wave of panic. What had she just done? She hadn’t helped her situation one bit with her impulsive actions, and now she had the deputy director of the CIA tied up and—what? Held hostage?

When Kurt, Nas and Reade found out what she was doing, they’d side with Keaton. They’d have to. Incapacitating her torturer had been an act of pre-emptive self-defence, but they couldn’t support her actions. They were federal agents and she’d just committed a crime. Would she have to go on the run? Leave Kurt? Go back to Sandstorm and hope they’d read her in fully on phase two at some point in the future?

“If you’re gonna switch our roles, you might as well get in here.” Keaton’s voice was weak, but sarcastic. Just hearing it made Jane want to throw up again, but there was nothing left in her stomach.

_Damn him. Damn him for making me ruin my life again._

He was right, though. She’d have to face him sometime. Steeling herself, she went out into the hall, her gun at the ready before her in case he’d miraculously gotten out of the cuffs.

“There you are. Feeling better?”

“Shut up.” Now that she had a moment to breathe and look him over, he looked pathetically defenceless. Just a man.

A man with the bureaucratic power to put her in a dark hole for the rest of her life. Appearances could be deceptive.

“Do you even have a plan, Jane Doe? Or should I call you Remi now?” She must have reacted, because he laughed. “Yeah, part of my deal with the NSA was that I be kept in the loop about your operation. I know everything you’ve told Nas Kamal.”

Jane transferred her weapon to her left hand, stepped forward and punched him in the jaw, fighting the wave of betrayal that threatened to overwhelm her. As if it wasn’t bad enough that this man had tortured her for months, now he had access to the meagre bits of information she’d successfully kept from him under duress?

Keaton let out a pained grunt as her strike landed, his head whipping to the side with the force of the blow. Hurting him didn’t give Jane the satisfaction she’d always imagined she’d get in this situation. It didn’t give her the same nauseating guilt she’d felt while torturing Cade, either.

Damn it, he deserved to suffer the way she’d suffered. Why couldn’t she enjoy this? All she felt was anger and fear.

“So what did those three months of torturing me get you, _Jake_? What did you achieve that you couldn’t have gotten by just waiting for the right person with the right intel? How many terrorist attacks did you prevent by brutalising me, day after day after day?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t meet her eyes. Did he actually feel some modicum of shame for what he’d done to her? It would never be enough, but it would at least be something.

“Admit it,” she ordered. “Admit that you abused your power for no reason other than that Mayfair wouldn’t let the CIA have me. You saw your opening and you took it, not because you thought you’d get anything that Weller couldn’t, but because you wanted the career boost of getting Jane Doe when Carter failed.”

Keaton sighed. “Maybe there was a little of that, yeah.” He stared up at her, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to flinch. “But was I wrong about you? Are you just an innocent little girl, _Remi_?”

“I’m not Remi. I’m Jane.”

Keaton rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah? Well, whoever you are, you threw my identity to your mom’s terrorist organisation on the first night you made contact with them. I have been skipping around Europe for months now. I can’t see my family. I can’t go home.”

“Do you expect me to cry for you?” Jane snapped. “I didn’t tell them anything that wasn’t true. But I didn’t do it for revenge. I had a cover story all set up, but then I realised they’d already captured the guy I was planning to say tortured me. I had nothing else, and _in the interests of national security_ ”—she emphasised the words bitterly, knowing that had been his excuse for torturing her—“I couldn’t afford to have them kill me. So I told the truth. And if I had to do it again, I would.”

“My wife and daughter are under guard twenty-four hours a day. I can only communicate with them through letters at a dead drop.”

“I wake up screaming every night because of what you did to me.” Discarding the gun for the moment, Jane crouched beside her captive and grabbed his head in both hands, making him look into her face. It sickened her to be this close to him, but if he could see that, so much the better. “I have panic attacks when I remember that black site. I think I see you in every crowd of people. It’s only been a few days since I healed from the physical injuries you inflicted on me, and it could be literally _years_ until the PTSD lets me sleep at night. Don’t you _dare_ act like you’re the victim here.”

Shoving back from him, she picked up her weapon again with a shaking hand. If the son of a bitch carried on with his pity party, she didn’t know if she could stop herself from shooting him. Or if she _should_ stop herself.

“It wasn’t personal. I was just doing my job.” Keaton rested his head against the wall as he looked up at her. “I do what I have to do for the good of the country. And what I did to you was completely sanctioned by US law.”

“You were just following orders, doing what you had to do under the law? _That’s_ your excuse?” Incredulous, Jane stared at him. “Did it never occur to you that the law is wrong? That agencies like yours have too much power? What the hell happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”

“Terrorists don’t play by decent people’s rules. You’re a fine example of that right now, huh? You’ve got your weapon, your captive, your damn self-righteous anger… How is this any different from what I did to you?”

Jane couldn’t argue with that. Even with her PTSD as an excuse, she knew she should untie him and submit herself to Nas’ judgement. But was there any way that this could end happily for her now?

Somehow, she didn’t think so.

* * *

Kurt’s shoulders slumped as he checked Caruso’s pulse. “He’s gone.”

Nas sighed. “I’m sorry. Did you know him well?”

“Not as well as Reade did. They went through Quantico together.” Kurt stood up, surveying the carnage around them. There had to be at least ten bodies here in total, probably more. And the Bulgarian authorities would be closing in fast.

“Did you get Jane and Winter to the van?”

“Reade was most of the way to getting them there when I left him. As long as things went without a hitch, they should be safely there now.” Nas indicated the door to the back hall. “Come on. We can’t get anyone to take care of Caruso until we’re over the border.”

Kurt hesitated. It didn’t seem right to just leave one of their own in a hallway full of enemy dead. “Let me grab a sheet or something from upstairs to cover him. I know it’s stupid, I just…”

“We left the apartment door open when we left. There didn’t seem like much point securing it now the window’s broken. You head up there; I’ll check on the others, make sure we’re ready to go,” Nas said.

Kurt took the stairs two at a time, wanting to get this over with. This whole mission had turned out so differently than he’d expected, and they still had no idea whose forces they’d just defended Winter against. A quick search of the enemy bodies had turned up no clues.

When he reached the landing and found the apartment door tightly shut, he gave it a shove, frowning. Had one of the others come back up here?

Inside, there was a scuffle, and a masculine groan that didn’t sound like Reade. More enemies? If that were the case, it was probably better to retreat. They still had to get Winter out of there, and their ammunition supplies were beginning to run low.

“Weller,” Reade called urgently from below.

Kurt’s gut instinct kicked in, warning him that something was very wrong. He headed down to join Reade.

“Jane’s not in the van. Winter said she dumped him in there, told him to stay down and left again.”

A chill swept through Kurt’s body. “Someone’s up there, in the safehouse. Sounded male. And the door’s locked.”

“You think Jane’s up there with someone?” Reade’s brow furrowed. “Keaton?”

“I have no idea, but if she is, it’s gonna take time and a hell of a lot of care to sort this situation out.”

Together, they ascended to the safehouse door and listened. A male voice that might have been Keaton mumbled, too indistinct for them to make out the words. When Jane’s icy voice answered, though, it was much clearer. “I had no identity, no papers, no nationality, no _rights!_ You took advantage of my amnesia to hold me without charge, when I couldn’t have answered a single one of your questions.”

Kurt closed his eyes in defeat. Despite his best efforts, the worst-case scenario had come to pass. It would take longer to extricate Jane from this situation than they could afford to keep Winter around here.

“Reade, I want you and Nas to get Winter back to the States. Take the jet and go.”

Reade blinked. “What about you guys?”

“The Bulgarians could be here any second. This will take time to sort out, and we have to secure Winter. I’ll sort things out here, then Jane and I will grab a commercial flight back. I’m counting on you for the rest.”

“Got it.” Reade straightened up. “I hope Jane’s…” He shook his head.

“Yeah. Me too.”

As Reade took the stairs down two at a time, Kurt knocked on the door. “Jane, it’s me.”

“Stay out of this, Kurt. Please.” Her voice held just the barest trace of distress, and none of the warmth he was accustomed to hearing.

“Weller, she has me tied up in here—” Keaton’s voice cut off abruptly. Through the door, Kurt couldn’t tell why, though he suspected Jane had struck her captive.

Kurt tried to look through the keyhole, but could only just see Keaton’s zip-tied feet. He gave up and concentrated on Jane, fighting his own rising emotions.

“Jane, I need to check that you’re okay. Reade and Nas are heading back with Winter, so it’s just us.”

“Please, just go away. I need…to focus.”

Kurt put his hand to the door, swallowing the lump in his throat. She still sounded strong, but brittle, as though at any moment her composure would break.

“Don’t make me break the door down, Jane. I know this is hard. Whatever it is you need, I’m with you. But I need to see with my own eyes that you’re safe.”

For a long moment, there was only silence behind the door.

“You won’t understand.”

“Yes. I will.” He already did. He’d had more than a few thoughts about taking his frustrations out on Keaton, and he hadn’t even been the victim. “I know he brought this on himself. Please, Jane. Just open the door. Let me check on you. I’ll stay in the doorway, I promise.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“I won’t stop you. I won’t even come in.” He waited, tense and afraid for her, hoping their bond was strong enough that she’d accede to his request. “Jane. I know you’re not okay right now. I know you acted before you thought things through, and now you’re too scared to back down. But I’m not letting anyone take you from me, okay? Not again. Open the door. Let me talk to Keaton. We can all work things out.”

He’d handled dozens of hostage situations during the course of his career, but this was different. If the others went wrong, tragedy could occur—had occurred, in some cases—but this had deeply personal ramifications. If Jane killed Keaton, he didn’t know if he could protect her. Her PTSD could give her cause to plead temporary insanity, but she was a terrorist in the eyes of the law, and there was no guarantee she could keep her cover intact with Sandstorm after this relapse. If she had no value to the NSA, there was likely nothing he could do to protect her from being prosecuted or taken back into CIA custody.

He would lose her.

Before the bleakness of the situation could overwhelm him, the door rattled as it was unlocked from the inside. Kurt seized the welcome distraction and braced himself for what was to come.

Jane pulled the door wide, and he forced himself to stay motionless as he registered she was pointing her handgun at him. “Put your weapons on the ground and kick them over to me. Slowly.”

She was striving to keep her face blank, but he saw the despair and fear lurking under her surface demeanour. If the situation hadn’t been so volatile, he would have drawn her into his arms immediately. He was desperate to comfort her.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, despite needing to know how bad Keaton’s condition was. “Okay. I can do that.”

Jane’s voice broke as she ordered, “Don’t _handle me_ , Weller. I know I’m not getting out of this without repercussions.”

“If I have anything to say about it, you will.” Kurt pulled the strap of the HK-416 he was carrying up over his head, then crouched to place the enemy rifle on the floor. With one kick, he sent it across the wooden floor to Jane’s feet.

“I’m sorry it came to this,” she said curtly, watching him pull his handgun from its hip holster. “I tried to do what you asked, but then I saw him go in the back and I wanted to keep you safe, and—”

Kurt’s heart broke for her. Even while she was holding him at gunpoint, she looked so lost, somehow. He placed the gun on the floor and kicked it across to her, giving up his last weapon. “It’s okay. I’m not blaming you. I told him to stay the hell away from you.”

“In my defence, I didn’t know she was there,” Keaton said. “I tried to stay out of her way. I was looking for Winter.”

“Shut up, Keaton.” He and Jane spoke almost simultaneously. If not for the seriousness of the moment, Kurt would have found it funny.

“I’m unarmed now, Jane. I swear.”

Jane scooped up his weapons from the floor. If she’d been just another suspect, he could have taken her down as her attention wavered, but the idea of using force to subdue her made his gut churn. He’d lose the trust he’d worked so hard to build back up between them; there was no way he’d risk it unless there was no other option.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Jane took a shaky breath and nodded, still not lowering her gun. “Come in and close the door behind you. But don’t come any closer than that.”


	60. Extracting Intel

Kurt slowly stepped forward, then turned to close the door. As he took stock of the situation, Jane backed off enough that she could switch targets from Keaton back to him if necessary, ditching the weapons he'd handed over when she got within reach of the side table just past her captive.

It hurt that she was treating him like a threat again. For her to be this wary of him, she must have given up all hope that he'd be able to keep her safe from the CIA. Was this some sort of flashback event in her fractured psyche, or did she just think she'd mis-stepped too badly to be saved? The way she'd been convinced he'd hate her after she'd tortured Cade was only a drop in the ocean compared to this.

Without advancing farther down the hall, Kurt couldn't get a good look at Keaton's injuries, but he seemed conscious and alert.

"Welcome to the party, Weller," he said sardonically. "Did you bring the chips and dip?"

"Do you want to get out of this alive?" Kurt asked him. "'Cause if you do, I'd suggest keeping quiet. One more smart-ass comment, and I'll _ask_ Jane to pull the trigger."

"Are you a federal agent or a lovesick puppy?" Keaton snapped back.

"Both of you, shut up," Jane ordered. "This is so ridiculous; it's like one of my hallucinations at the black site."

Kurt and Keaton both fell silent.

"So where were we, Keaton?" Jane said. "You like to ask the same questions over and over again, right? Let's take it from the top. Explain why you took me out of FBI holding without authorisation from the arresting agent."

Keaton sighed. "Because the CIA was pretty sure you were a terrorist. And we were right."

"You didn't know that at the time. _I_ didn't know it at the time."

She was shaking, but her gun hand was impressively steady, only wavering a little. Now that he had time to study her while her focus was off him, Kurt could tell how frightened Keaton actually made her—and how angry. She wasn't quite at the point of being on a hair trigger, but if provoked—if Keaton managed to free himself, or threatened her too boldly—she would shoot first and regret it later.

Keaton spoke with the weariness of someone who'd parroted the same lines a hundred times. "I was ordered to extract intel from an enemy combatant."

Even before Jane responded, Kurt knew that the jargon wouldn't sit well with her.

"Let me translate that into plain English for you. You were ordered to _torture_ someone you thought might be a terrorist—without any actual proof— into giving you information you wanted, but that you had no good reason to believe that person actually had, given that their polygraphs and brain scans all showed that they were a genuine amnesiac. Am I right?"

Keaton didn't say anything.

"Am I right?" Jane demanded again, crouching to press the muzzle of the gun against Keaton's right shoulder socket. "You know which one of my injuries took longest to heal? My right arm. Do you want to answer me, or do you want me to show you how it felt?"

"Jane," Kurt said softly, hoping that the reminder he was there would cool her down a little.

"Yes, you're right. But as I have already said, the laws of the United States allow for the indefinite detention and interrogation of terror suspects." Keaton sounded bored, but he had to be feeling the strain of the situation by now.

Jane took a step back, still tense, but her anger further below the surface. "The law is wrong. You said in the black site that the monsters don't play by your rules, so you have to play by theirs. Did you ever consider that by torturing and tormenting your suspects, you _create_ the monsters?"

Keaton snorted. "Yeah, I'm starting to get that idea. Wonder why?"

"Jane," Kurt said, bringing her focus back to him. "We need to get you out of this situation. Do you trust me?"

Jane looked back at Keaton, then returned her gaze to Kurt. "You know I do, but there's no way out, not now."

"Keaton," Kurt said, not taking his eyes off Jane. "Why are you in Sofia?"

"To apprehend Douglas Winter." Whether he understood where Kurt was taking this or not, Keaton played along.

"You weren't here to recapture Jane?"

"No. I'm on the run in Europe because she gave terrorists my name. I heard through the CIA grapevine that there was a possible lead on Winter, and I decided to check it out. I didn't even know she'd be here."

Jane's shoulders slumped, as though she acknowledged how badly she'd screwed up.

"And you knew she had PTSD when you declined to take our advice to stay away from our team."

Keaton sighed. "Yes. I knew there'd be a risk I'd trigger Jane's PTSD when I walked in the door. I just thought you'd have her with you on the front lines of the gunfight, and I could sneak in the back and take Winter."

"Were they your men? The ones who stormed the place?" Jane asked tersely.

"No. I have no idea who they are. I thought they might be the Bulgarian mercs who were guarding him."

"They weren't," Kurt said, taking control of the conversation again. Hoping Jane would let him lead for now. "We have no idea who they are if they're not your men. But they killed one of ours."

Jane took a step towards him. "Who?"

"Caruso." Kurt pushed down his guilt at not being able to save the agent under his command. Later, he'd let himself indulge it, when things were calm again.

"I'm sorry," Jane murmured. Even in this high-stress situation, she still cared, still worried about him.

Kurt took the opportunity to move a careful step forward. "Jane…"

She shook her head, raising the gun again. "Stay where you are, Kurt. Please. I know you want to help, but…"

He held up both hands. "I'll be right here."

Mercifully, Keaton didn't undo the work Kurt had started with more sarcasm. He kept quiet as Jane took a shaky breath and confessed, "I couldn't control myself, and now there's no way out for me."

"Let me help you. Can you put down the gun?"

Jane's hand tightened on the grip. "I'm afraid of what will happen if I do."

"Okay. You can keep it for now. But keep looking at me, okay? Just at me."

Jane nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know you're scared. I know what he did to you, and I know how much it hurts that he isn't gonna be punished for it. And how hard you're working to make up for the things Remi did. I'm with you, no matter what you decide to do."

"Really, Weller?" It was like Keaton just couldn't help himself. "You're gonna let her kill me?"

As he gazed at Jane's ashen face, Kurt searched his soul. Would he _let_ her kill Keaton? No. But if it came down to arresting her or helping her cover up the crime, taking into account who she'd killed and why… He'd take Jane's side in a heartbeat.

Jane immediately focused on her hostage again, weapon raised. "What would be the point in killing you? Some other morally bankrupt asshole would just rise up a rank to take your place, just like you did with Carter."

Kurt relaxed a little. She wasn't actually premeditating Keaton's murder—that was a relief.

As Keaton scowled up at her, Jane said, "I don't agree with my mother's methods, but it's hard to argue with her reasons. This country is broken, and people like you, who just do your job without questioning what it'll lead to? You're part of the problem."

"Jane." Kurt tried to regain her attention, but she was too incensed.

"You want to protect your wife and daughter from the bad guys? Start by looking at yourself, and your own organisation. I'm not gonna turn on the US, fall back in with my mother and brother, because I don't believe that the ends justify the means. Not like you do."

Had Keaton just flinched? Kurt hoped so, because every word Jane was saying, he agreed with.

"Think about what they're asking you to do. Look under the surface of the bullshit they feed you. 'Collateral damage' isn't just a term. It means innocent lives lost. 'Extracting intel'? That's torture, and most torture victims will eventually say anything just to get the pain to stop, true or not. You know I'm right. Are you really so jaded that it doesn't matter to you? That you'll just get your hands bloody and then collect your paycheque, like your job is just like any normal job?"

"Jane," Kurt said again, a little more forcefully.

"What if some agency decided your daughter had fallen in with a terrorist group, just because she was dating someone close to them without even knowing it? Would you let them take her and torture her for months on end, because they were convinced that she knew something? No, I bet you'd move heaven and earth to get her back, right? Even if they were acting under the law."

"Okay!" Keaton yelled. "You've made your goddamn point, Doe. What do you want me to do, apologise?"

"Yeah, that'd be a good start, if I thought you'd actually mean it."

" _Jane._ "

Maybe she heard the pleading note in his voice, or maybe she'd finally said everything she'd been holding in since the CIA had first taken her. Either way, she turned back to Kurt, levelling her weapon at him as he took another step forward.

"Don't, Kurt."

He shook his head, taking another step. "You're not gonna shoot me, Jane."

"I can't go back to that black site. If I have to, I will kill everyone who stands in my way."

There was a firm edge of resolve in her tone, but he read past it to the desperation beneath. "I'm not gonna let them take you back there, either."

"How are you gonna stop them, Kurt?" The first tear fell as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her blurred vision. "You don't have enough power on your own. If Nas gives up on me, then I—"

"I love you. I'll give up the badge and go on the run with you if that's what it takes, but I'm not gonna lose you again."

Jane let out a single sob, the gun still held in front of her, though she couldn't possibly see clearly to shoot. At this close range, she would probably hit him anyway if she pulled the trigger, but Kurt didn't think she would.

He advanced another step, leaned forward so that she felt the pressure of his chest against the muzzle of the gun. "I just want to help keep you safe. Give me the gun, Jane."

He felt her tremble through the metal digging into his chest. With another gasping sob, she closed her eyes, fighting to keep the tiny scrap of composure she still had.

Slowly, carefully, Kurt closed his hand around the barrel of the weapon and began to tilt it downward. Head bowed in defeat, Jane released her hold on the gun entirely.

The tension flooded out of Kurt's muscles, leaving him a little unsteady. He flicked on the safety, then tossed the weapon onto a side table, out of reach.

Beside them, Keaton gave a sigh of relief, but said nothing, perhaps remembering Jane's hand-to-hand combat skills. He wasn't out of the woods yet, and he knew it. How long he would keep quiet, Kurt had no idea, but he didn't spare the agent a glance as he drew Jane into his arms.

She clung to him, still keeping her sobs locked in her chest, fighting her need for air so that Keaton didn't see her lose her grip completely. Again, Kurt took her hand and pressed it against his beating heart, reminding her without words that he was here with her, that he wasn't going anywhere.

Instead of falling apart, the way she might have done if they were alone, Jane swallowed down her sobs and straightened, pulling back far enough to look up into his face. In response to his questioning look, she gave a terse nod and stepped out of his arms, heading back down the hall to the bathroom but not closing the door.

As she presumably washed her face and pulled herself together a little, Kurt went in search of something to cut Keaton's ankles free of the large zip-tie Jane had used to restrain them. After finding a pair of large scissors in a kitchen drawer, he crouched to release the agent's legs, then took out the standard key that would free any pair of this brand of cuffs.

"Thanks," Keaton said, shifting a little to give Kurt better access to the restraints.

Instead of releasing him, though, Kurt sat down beside him and said conversationally, "We need to talk."


	61. What Would Mayfair Do?

"Seriously? You want to do this while I'm still chained to a damn radiator?" Keaton groaned. "Gimme a break."

The past couple of times he'd been in Keaton's proximity, Kurt had had the luxury of walking away. Now, he had to deal with the bastard, and there were no CIA agents with guns or NSA agents with diplomacy to make him stand down. It was tempting to take a few swings at the bastard, just because he deserved it. And if he started, he wasn't sure he'd stop.

Every time he thought of the black site, or the stark terror on Jane's face just now, his anger rose a little higher.

_What would Mayfair do?_

That thought helped him to calm down, to think his way out of this problem.

"This was your fault. You brought it on yourself. _You_ tortured Jane; _you_ gave her post-traumatic stress disorder; _you_ got in her way when we warned you not to."

"Fine. The Jane Doe case wasn't my finest hour. I admit it." Keaton sighed. "What do you want?"

"I want the CIA to stay the hell away from Jane, whether or not the FBI-NSA taskforce succeeds in taking Sandstorm down."

Keaton released his breath in a slow hiss. "That's a big ask, Weller. She's the only tangible link we've got to them right now."

"And the taskforce is working that link. If Jane's cover is blown, it'll be because her head's not on straight, because of what you did to her. If she relapses now, it could cost this country everything, you understand?"

"And if she blows her cover, the CIA will need to interrogate her more than ever," Keaton snapped. "If you weren't so cuckoo over her, you'd see that."

Kurt realised his hands were balled into fists, and had to take a moment to rein himself in, flexing his fingers as he took a breath.

"You fucked up, Keaton. You got cocky, you wasted three months breaking her psyche to no good end, and you just got to taste the fruits of that labour. You owe her the chance to make something of her life. The good she's done for this country already is proof enough that she deserves it. So is the fact she didn't kill you on the spot."

Keaton was silent for so long, Kurt thought he'd struck out. But then the agent shook his head. "Get me out of these cuffs, find me some aspirin, and I'll agree to leave her alone. On two conditions. One: you owe me a favour. I don't know what or when yet, but when I need it, I'll be collecting."

"Agreed." Kurt didn't even have to think about it.

"Okay. Two: you take responsibility for her. If things go sideways with this op, and the US goes to threat level red, you do whatever you have to do to stop it. If she goes rogue, you take her out. And if stopping Sandstorm means sacrificing Jane on a suicide mission, you make that call."

"I'll be right there at her side on that mission." Kurt held up the key, and Keaton twisted again to give him access to the cuffs.

The first thing Keaton did as a free man was hold out his hand to shake on their deal. As they shook hands, Kurt tried not to think about what Keaton might ask him to do in the future. No matter what it was, it was worth Jane's safety.

"Get your house in order, Keaton," he said, standing up. "Figure out where the lines are, and which ones need to be re-drawn."

"Is that some sort of threat?" Keaton said, struggling to his feet.

"No. Just advice."

"You're the cleanest agent I've ever looked into," Keaton said derisively. "You can't be speaking from experience."

"It's the advice Bethany Mayfair would give you, if she were still alive."

Kurt's phone vibrated, and he checked it to find a text message from Nas. _Something to smooth the way with the local police._ Attached was a file on an incident involving the commissioner of Sofia's police department—something that would definitely hurt his professional and personal lives if it were to become public knowledge.

It was going to be a complicated process to extricate them from this mess, but Nas' intel would help. Kurt just hoped Jane could hold it together until he could get them out of there.

* * *

 

Everything felt distant, unreal. Jane heard the rumble of Kurt's voice out in the hall as he talked to Keaton, but she couldn't focus on the words. Every time Keaton responded, she cringed inside, recognising the voice of her black-site tormentor, but she was too exhausted to do anything but slump down on the bathroom floor and stare at nothing.

Then someone was knocking at the apartment door, and there were more voices. Was she going to be taken away somewhere? Or was this all because of Winter and the gunfight downstairs? That all seemed as though it'd happened years ago, but it must only have been minutes.

She was trembling, but not cold, angry or scared. She wasn't anything at all. She wondered if she was even herself.

"Jane?"

Kurt appeared in the doorway, and she blinked up at him, wanting to ask what was going on—and more importantly, where Keaton was—but not quite able to find the words.

"Hey." He came to sit beside her, reached for her hand. As he had after she'd come out of the black site, he waited for her to put her hand in his, leaving the choice up to her. And as had been the case back then, it took monumental force of will to place her palm against his.

Had she slipped back so far? Lost all the progress she'd made?

"I know you need to rest, but I could really use your help for a second." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "Do you think you could translate something into Bulgarian for me? The local cops have shown up, and either they don't understand English, or they're playing dumb."

Jane couldn't help but tense up at the thought of having to face Keaton again. Kurt shook his head, guessing what was going through her mind.

"Keaton's gonna wait in one of the bedrooms, okay?" He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know if you could hear us talking, but I got him to back off. He's gonna leave you alone."

Jane knew she should feel relieved. Grateful. Happy. Something. But she felt nothing.

"Okay," she said, her voice emerging rusty, as though she hadn't used it for centuries. "What do you need?"

Luckily, it wasn't as taxing as she'd feared. She managed to convey to the investigating police that they should speak with their commissioner about a certain incident the National Security Agency of the United States happened to have uncovered intel about. After grumbling and checking in higher up the chain of command, the investigating officers miraculously decided to focus their investigation on finding the identities and affiliations of the attackers who'd stormed the safehouse, rather than demanding to know what business the FBI and CIA had in Sofia that had resulted in such a violent standoff. Even more miraculously, they began to understand English.

After her part was done, Jane retreated to the bedroom where she and Kurt had killed time waiting for Reade and Caruso to return. Everything that had happened before Keaton had appeared—and since she'd given Kurt her weapon—seemed like a dream.

She curled up on the bed and closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was being gently called back to awareness by Kurt.

"Hey," he said, with a weary smile. "How are you feeling?"

How _was_ she feeling? She didn't know.

"What's going on?" She struggled to sit up, trying to shed her fatigue.

"The Bulgarian police are letting us leave. I've found us a hotel for the night—we just need to get there."

On autopilot, Jane managed to get ready to go. Once she reached the bedroom door, though, she faltered.

"He's already gone. Don't worry."

"Thanks," she mumbled, just for something to say.

She'd told this man she loved him, and less than fifteen minutes later she'd been holding him at gunpoint, terrified he was going to arrest her or let Keaton take her back to a black site, despite all of his reassurances. She owed him an apology, but she could hardly remember how to function right now.

_Get to the hotel. Worry about the rest later._

Kurt kept his hand on the small of her back as they descended the back stairs. Most of the carnage was towards the front of the block, so they only saw a couple of Bulgarian cops as they left via the alley. Around the front of the building, ambulances and police cars flashed red and blue lights at their surroundings.

Jane and Kurt turned their back to the building and silently walked down to the end of the street. The Grand Hotel Maria, where Winter had been held, was within sight once they got to the corner, but Kurt steered her a couple of blocks farther across town to a hotel that catered to tourists rather than rich businesspeople.

Once they were alone again, closed into the clean, comfortable room they'd been allocated, Kurt hesitated before speaking. "Do you need anything? Food? A shower? If you just want to sleep some more…"

Jane wrapped her arms around him, wishing she could reassure him in a way that was less clumsy, more coherent. But he seemed to understand, holding her tightly in return and stroking her hair.

The more time she spent in his arms, though, the more likely she was to fall apart. Already, she sensed her emotions encroaching on the edge of the numbness that had overtaken her. "I'm gonna take a shower," she said. "I'll be right back."

* * *

 

"Just be patient. Keep your voice calm, speak slowly. She might have trouble comprehending things fully for a while yet." Borden sounded concerned, which wasn't exactly helping Kurt to feel less anxious about Jane's mental state. "She's been through a lot, and this clearly will set her recovery back."

"It's all normal, though? I don't have to get her to the hospital or anything?" Kurt paced the room, listening to the faint patter of the water from Jane's shower. She'd been in there a while, not that he was surprised.

"I think under the circumstances, a quiet environment would be best. She might want space, which might be difficult in a hotel room, but don't be too concerned if she keeps you at arms' length. It's common."

"Thanks, Borden." Kurt sighed. "I'll make sure she makes an appointment to see you as soon as we get back to New York."

"I'll rearrange my schedule to see her as soon as she needs me. Take care, Agent Weller."

Kurt put down his cell phone and stared out of the window into the night. Under streetlights and spotlights, Sofia was almost as beautiful in the dark as it was in the day, but he couldn't find much appreciation for the architecture at the moment.

The mission had seemed to be going so well. At least they'd managed to secure Winter; Reade had confirmed the FBI's private jet had left Bulgarian airspace, which meant they were free and clear. Between them, Kurt and Nas were going to face a nightmare of paperwork related to this mission, and Pellington would most likely have to step in to smooth some ruffled Bulgarian feathers. He'd have to offer condolences to Caruso's next of kin. But all of that could wait until Kurt got back to the States. Right now, he only cared about one thing.

Jane finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a spare shirt from Kurt's go-bag that reached down to her mid-thighs. She'd had a go-bag of her own, but she'd tossed it in the van along with Winter, and now it was waiting in a locker at the airport, thanks to Reade. Kurt had offered to go pick it up, but Jane had said she'd rather wear his shirt anyway.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her damp hair curling against the bird tattoo on her neck, and gave him an attempt at a smile. "Everything okay?"

"I was just checking in with Borden. He says to take it easy, and he'll see you when we get back home."

Jane nodded. "Kinda glad we're so far away. I don't know what to say right now."

Kurt propped up a couple of pillows and sat back against the headboard, careful not to invade her side of the bed in case she felt crowded. Jane didn't shift all the way over to lean against him, but she did take his hand, to his relief.

She was still trembling a little, but that was to be expected so soon after her trauma. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly, wondering if he should talk about something unrelated to the day's drama, or encourage her to open up.

"Kurt…" Jane said, before he could make a decision. "Thank you for being here for me today. I know it was a lot to deal with."

He opened his mouth to tell her he'd do it again in a heartbeat, but she gave him a quick shake of her head, silencing him.

"I just… I don't feel much of anything right now, so this might not come out sounding all that sincere, but I wanted to apologise. I treated you like a threat, and that wasn't fair of me." She stared into space, unable to look at him.

"Jane. You've been through hell, and some of it was my fault. Today, your brain went straight back to the way things used to be. It's understandable. I don't blame you."

"What if I'd shot you?" she whispered.

Kurt couldn't help but smile. "You weren't going to shoot me. I knew that the whole time."

"I wish I could be so sure." A shudder ran through her. "I saw him and I just…lost my mind. If you hadn't been here…"

Sensing her distress rising, Kurt reached out to cup her cheek, holding her gaze steadily. "It was his fault. He admitted it. And he's not gonna come after you again."

Her trembling increased as she nodded.

"Can I do anything to make you feel safer?"

Jane's smile was sad, tremulous, but genuine. "I might have made you doubt it today, but you make me feel safe just by being here."

"I'm glad." He kissed her forehead, and she finally leaned against him, snuggling close with a sigh.

"It was like I was…possessed," she said, confusion clear in her words. "And all of a sudden I had him tied up, but he was still terrifying. And he hardly even seemed to care what he'd done, or that I had a gun pointed at his head, and it made me so angry. And I heard you knocking, and I just flashed back to that night you arrested me, and…"

She ran out of words, ending her sentence with a jerky shrug.

"It's okay. Just breathe."

Jane sucked in a breath, but couldn't seem to let it go again. His heart aching for her, Kurt kissed the top of her head.

"I love you. I'm here for you. Always."

A sob tried to break free of her chest, but she stubbornly held it captive.

"Breathe, Jane," Kurt reminded her softly.

The dam holding her emotions at bay broke, and she wept against his chest, every deep, shuddering sob tugging at his own composure. When he realised what she was struggling to say, he lost the battle, his own tears silently falling as he strove to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, Kurt… I'm so sorry…"


	62. Brotherly Concern

_“Why Jake Keaton?” Kurt paced around her, holding a cattle prod and looking detached, impatient, with none of the love he usually showed. “I’m sick of going through this over and over without any answers, Jane. Why Keaton?”_

_With sickening clarity, Jane somehow knew that Jake Keaton’s name was tattooed on her back. The thought made her sick to her stomach, almost as much as how dispassionately Kurt was regarding her._

_“I had to make sure he wasn’t going to bring me back here,” she protested. “Why did_ you _bring me back here, Kurt? I thought you understood!”_

_“You killed him. You’re a murderer and a terrorist, and this is exactly what you deserve, Jane Doe.” Kurt raised the cattle prod, the business end sparking ominously._

_“He’s dead? No, I didn’t mean to! He was alive when I left him!”_

_Kurt pulled open a curtain at the other end of the room. Bodies were stacked in a heap—Keaton, Mayfair, Oscar, Taylor Shaw, Caruso. All of them were somehow staring straight at her, both blank and accusing at once. As she struggled against the handcuffs that tethered her to the hot water pipe, Kurt zapped her with the prod, and—_

Jane flailed into disorienting wakefulness. Why was there something wet and cold in her lap? What the—?

“It’s okay, sis. It’s just me.”

Jane had picked up her sidearm before she registered the words, levelling it in the direction of the voice. Then she blinked into the gloom, and fumbled for the switch to turn on her bedside lamp. “Roman? What are you doing here?”

As she put her gun back on the nightstand, he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking worried. “I heard about what happened with Keaton. Thought you might need help waking up.”

It took Jane a second to process his words; she was too busy identifying the wet, cold object in her lap as a washcloth that was soaking her bed linen. She threw it on the floor before replying, “It happened in Bulgaria. How could you know about that before I told you?”

“We have people in a lot of countries.” Roman sighed. “He attacked you?”

“No. I attacked him.”

Roman raised his eyebrows a little, waiting for more.

Fighting to shed the dread her dream had left her with, Jane attempted to put her thoughts in order. How could she best use what had happened to make it go over well with Shepherd?

“I saw him before he saw me, and the rest of the team were occupied in a shoot-out, so I went after him. I managed to get him into one of the apartments, and I tied him up.” Her shudder was completely unfeigned as she confessed, “I guess I panicked with the PTSD, and the fight-or-flight response got a little too much to handle. But please don’t tell Shepherd that. She already thinks I’m weak.”

Roman’s expression was completely understanding. “Hey, when arachnophobes see spiders, sometimes they run away; sometimes they run forward and squish ‘em. You squished Keaton.”

“Part of me _wishes_ I squished him. I just…trapped him under a glass, I guess.” Remembering Keaton’s sarcasm in the face of her rage and pain, she balled her hands into fists. “And then hit him a little.”

“Just hit him? I would have done everything he’d done to me right back to him,” Roman said.

“I didn’t have time. Or an electroshock machine. The FBI were right downstairs, too. I was tempted, though.” She leaned back against her headboard, shoving her hands through her tousled, sweat-soaked hair. “I did put the fear of God into him before Weller showed up, though.”

Beneath the blanket, she crossed her fingers at the little white lie. Keaton hadn’t been nearly as afraid of her as she’d been of him.

“I thought about killing him, but it wouldn’t have solved anything. Just like when Carter died and Keaton stepped up to take his place, there’d be someone else to replace Keaton who might be just as bad, or worse. So I made him think about who the real monsters were, and how they got made.”

“That’s smart. I think Shepherd will like that, for what it’s worth. We need Keaton for phase two, anyway. Shepherd was on the fence about cutting him out of the plan, but this will make her happy.”

Jane blinked. “You need Keaton for phase two? Why?”

“Well, more like afterwards. For damage control. But I can’t tell you more than that, you know I can’t.” Roman sighed.

“Sorry. I just… It’s frustrating being out of the loop.” Roman’s words had reminded her of something she’d wanted to ask, though. “I do have a theory. I know you can’t tell me, but maybe you can let me know if I’m in the ballpark?”

Roman shifted on the bed. “It depends what it is. You can tell me, though.”

“I think there’s a phase three. I know you said phase two is gonna be a complete reset, but what happens after everything is reset? Shepherd doesn’t seem like the type to just destroy things. She wants to change them, so maybe Keaton…and Weller…are part of that?”

His eyes narrowed slightly before flat refusal crossed his face. “I can’t tell you anything except that you’re right about Shepherd. She’s not a terrorist; she’s a reformer.”

Jane nodded, pretending she didn’t think that was complete bullshit. “Okay. That makes sense. Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Even when you’ve just woken up from horrific nightmares, you still don’t give up, do you?”

“Guess not.” Reminded of her dream again, she swallowed hard.

Roman put a hand on her shoulder. “Think you can go back to sleep?”

Jane gave a thin smile. “For about an hour, before I have hours of awful dreams and then wake myself up freaking out. It…it feels worse this time. Worse than before Bulgaria, I mean.”

He sighed. “Want me to stay? I can cut down those hours to a few minutes and wake you up.”

It was tempting, but even though her brother was actively plotting terrorism, she couldn’t help but be concerned for Shepherd’s potential reaction to his help. Plus, she was supposed to be worried about the FBI detecting that she was a mole. “The more time you spend around me, the higher your risk of exposing both of us. How am I supposed to explain who you are if one of the team catches sight of you? And what about Shepherd? Does she even know you’re here?”

“No,” Roman confessed, after a moment. “But, Remi, I’ve seen you sleep-deprived from PTSD before. Last time Shepherd made me stop waking you, you were a mess after a week; really off your stride. Your reaction times were down; your aim was off; you kept jumping at shadows… And these tattoo cases are dangerous. You need to be at the top of your game, or they might get a lucky shot in and you’ll just be gone.”

“Really? I’ve been that bad?” She wished she could remember, so she could compare Remi’s PTSD to her current state. She rubbed her hands across her face, trying to buy some time to think how to turn this to her advantage. Did she dare bring up starting a relationship with Kurt so soon after Cade’s escape? It hadn’t even been a week since she’d last been at Shepherd’s compound.

“Yeah. It wasn’t great,” he said softly.

“Okay,” she whispered, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Um… I could see if Weller will let me move in with him for a while. Oscar told me the plan was to, um, start sleeping with him, but Weller was seeing someone at the time, so I told him I wasn’t gonna break them up.”

“And then you started sleeping with Oscar again,” Roman filled in, rolling his eyes.

“Did he tell you that?” For some reason, the idea of her ex-fiancé bragging that he was sleeping with her again stung.

“Nah. But it was pretty obvious. He went from sulky and broody and emo to having a spring in his step. You’d told him you’d be sleeping with Weller, and he didn’t like it, but he accepted it. When he realised you were nixing that part of the plan, it was like Christmas for him.”

Jane made herself look more conflicted than she felt. “You’re really not making this easier, Roman.”

He winced. “Sorry. I didn’t think about it like that.”

Jane sighed. “I thought after Weller learned I wasn’t Taylor, that’d be that, but he’s started seeming interested in being more than friends again recently. I think I could be in his bed within a couple of weeks, especially since he feels so guilty about Keaton taking me from CIA custody.”

It felt disloyal to be talking about Kurt this way, but she was undercover. She had to make it seem like she saw him as a target.

Roman nodded. “Okay. Shepherd will be glad to hear that, too. Just make sure he keeps waking you up. You need as much sleep as you can get right now, especially if you start having flashbacks.”

“I know.” She looked over at him with trepidation. “Do you think Oscar would understand?”

He rolled his eyes. “Remi, if you could remember the way you used to be, you wouldn’t even ask me that. You were the one who called the shots in your relationship. Oscar would do anything for you, even stand back while you slept with a Fed.”

“For the good of the mission,” Jane murmured, remembering the resigned look on Oscar’s face as she’d handed him back her engagement ring.

“Exactly.” Roman shrugged. “He’d understand.”

“Thanks,” she said, trying not to show her revulsion at the way Remi must have manipulated Oscar. “That helps a little.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay the rest of tonight?” Roman asked, getting up as though he already knew the answer.

“No, I’ll manage. You should go, before Shepherd realises you’re not there.” She hesitated, then asked, “You don’t want to know any of the details about what happened in Bulgaria?”

“Like I said, we have people there. We know what happened with Winter.”

Jane nodded, hoping she didn’t look as though a puzzle piece was clicking into place in her mind. “Okay, no problem.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Roman hesitated a moment longer, then left her room. A few moments later, she heard the door to her safehouse open and shut, and was left to contemplate the wadded-up washcloth Roman had used to wake her, still soaking through her bedroom rug.

* * *

Kurt had been awake for around twenty minutes when he got up to grab a glass of water, giving up on dropping back to sleep for the moment. He’d contemplated texting Jane, to see if she was okay and not suffering too much with nightmares, but he didn’t want to wake her if she was in the middle of a period of restful sleep.

When he returned from the kitchen, his ‘burner phone’, as he and Jane had jokingly named it, was flashing with an unread message.

_I think the mercs in Bulgaria were Sandstorm._

Frowning, he thought it over. Why would Sandstorm want Winter? For what purpose? Other international agencies, sure, but terrorists? It made no sense, but he’d see what Nas thought of it tomorrow. For now, he hit the speed-dial shortcut to call Jane’s burner.

“Hey,” she said, sounding surprised. “Did I wake you with my text?”

“I was already awake,” he reassured her. “What makes you think Sandstorm wanted Winter?”

She explained what had happened to her that night, while Kurt tried not to overreact to the way Roman had so casually managed to get into her bedroom while she slept. If he’d wanted her dead, she’d already be dead.

“Maybe Winter would know,” he suggested, once she’d filled him in on her theory. “We can ask him tomorrow.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jane said, in a voice that implied anything but.

Kurt grinned, glad to hear her sounding a little more like herself. She’d been subdued since the incident with Keaton, and the flight back to the States from Bulgaria hadn’t helped her composure.

“I do have some good news, though. Roman was worried about my fitness in the field if I didn’t have anyone to wake me from my nightmares, so I suggested I could move in with you and get back on track seducing you. He told me to go for it.”

A knot of tension loosened in Kurt’s chest. Anything that meant Jane wouldn’t have to suffer alone was welcome news, but the idea of having her close by every night, not having to pretend they weren’t together… “Want me to come get you now?” he offered.

Jane hesitated, then sighed. “As much as I want to say yes, it’s a little too risky. If Roman had someone watch over me…”

“I know.” He’d known it was a bad idea when he’d brought it up, but her nightmares in the Bulgarian hotel had been so severe that he’d had to fend off a visit from an angry tourist in the next room, after she’d woken him—and Kurt—with her yelling four times in a row. It hurt to think of her frightened and alone when he might be able to help.

“Tomorrow, after work, I’ll come home with you—unless I get a Sandstorm summons. I promise.”

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“I might not be a fun houseguest,” she warned him, her voice sad.

“I just want to be there for you. Fun or not. If you just need to go back to lying in bed for a few days and shutting me out, I’ll understand.”

“I don’t want that.” She paused. “But I…don’t know if I’ll be in the mood for anything more than sleeping.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed, but it was what he’d expected, given that she’d just battled through a reminder of her initial trauma. “No expectations, I swear.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Get some more sleep, if you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Jane. I love you.”

But she’d already hung up.


	63. Normal Things

“Jane, how are you?”

The whole team looked up as Jane walked into Zero Division, and she cringed a little. This was her first time facing them all since she’d gone off the rails in Sofia, and though she knew they meant well, the concerned gazes just made her feel self-conscious.

“Sorry I’m late,” she told Nas, instead of answering her question.

“That good, hmm?” Nas indicated the table where the rest of the team were gathered. “Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

Kurt took her hand and squeezed it for a moment as she passed him. Jane flashed him a quick smile, then took her seat.

“You okay, Jane? I’m sorry I didn’t manage to keep you from…” Reade trailed off, shrugging.

“It wasn’t your fault, Reade. It was his.” She couldn’t quite seem to make herself say Keaton’s name.

“Even so, I—”

“Let’s get down to business, all right?” Nas interrupted with an apologetic smile. “Jane, I hear you had contact with Roman last night. Is your cover still intact?”

Jane frowned. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Because we need to seriously think about whether you can still handle this,” Nas said quietly.

“What? I— Yes!” Unprepared for Nas to be the one expressing doubt, Jane stared at her. “You were the one who put me on this mission. I’ve been doing good work. I may not have much we can use yet, but I can get more. Don’t pull me off this now!” _Don’t let the CIA take me back there. I need this immunity deal. I_ need _it._

“It’s okay, Jane.” Kurt was two seats away, so he couldn’t touch her, but his gaze was reassuring. “We haven’t made any decisions without your input.”

She gave him a tiny nod and looked down at her hands, linking her fingers together to stop them from shaking.

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Jane, but it’s very obvious you’re not at your best at the moment. Sending you back to that compound to die achieves nothing,” Nas continued.

“Roman has seen me symptomatic with PTSD before,” Jane said. “So has Shepherd. They’ve both seen me panic already since I started this mission. Roman already knew about what happened in Bulgaria, so he and Shepherd will expect me to be acting exactly like I’m acting. I can make this work in my favour. I’ve already sown the seeds to get Sandstorm to back off finding…Keaton”—the name left a bad taste in her mouth—“and gotten Roman to admit that Keaton is one of Shepherd’s key pawns for after phase two. He wouldn’t confirm that Kurt is, too, but I’m pretty sure of it.”

Nas and Kurt exchanged a glance, and Jane gritted her teeth, hating the idea of her future being decided by other people.

“Okay. In that case, we’ll proceed with caution. Try to get Sandstorm to a place where we can be sure Keaton will be safe to return to the US. I assume Shepherd will need him here if he’s part of her plans.”

“Right.” Even thinking about Keaton was hard, but Jane nodded, determined to keep on track. “Did Kurt tell you about my theory that the mercenaries were Sandstorm?”

“Yes. We’ll take a run at Winter this morning—”

“Before you do that,” Patterson interrupted, fiddling with her tablet, “I managed to unscramble the voices on Winter’s data chip, from when the masked assailants framed him. I left it until now because it doesn’t really tell us much. There was one man and one woman, both with American accents, but apart from that…”

“Let’s have a look,” Kurt said.

Patterson pointed to the largest screen mounted on the wall. “There.”

The team congregated around the screen as the footage played, this time without the voice modifications. Jane froze. “That’s Roman.”

“You’re sure?” Patterson asked.

 _“Enough! We’re done,”_ a female voice snapped in the recording.

“And Shepherd.” Jane stared up at the screen, trying to find familiar features in the two masked figures.

“That explains the mercenaries,” Zapata said.

“Sandstorm killed Caruso? For what?” Reade’s hands balled into fists at his side. Jane dimly realised he had to be feeling Caruso’s death more than any of them. He’d been one of Caruso’s Quantico buddies.

“To stop Jane from potentially finding out that Roman and Shepherd were involved with leaking information about government surveillance. That leak shut down Daylight and Orion.” Kurt came to stand by Jane, his arm brushing hers in silent support.

“And Remi was part of Orion. Shepherd was responsible for bringing her back from Afghanistan. The sole survivor, angry and presumed dead, looking for revenge against the people who killed her unit. Perfect for Shepherd’s plans.” Jane shook her head, disbelief overcoming her. “I knew she was manipulative, but this? This is…”

“You okay?” Patterson asked gently.

Jane shook her head and sighed. “So that’s how Roman knew all about what happened in Sofia. There must have been at least one survivor who reported back to Shepherd.”

“But you’re not supposed to know any of this. Bear that in mind when you next see Roman.” Nas gave her an assessing look.

Jane nodded. “Okay. I, um… I have a session with Borden in about ten minutes, so I should probably…”

“Yeah.” Kurt took her hand. “Just be careful what you say to him. I know it’s tough keeping classified information from your therapist, but—”

“—this is just one more thing I can’t tell him. Yeah. I know.” At this rate, there’d be more things she couldn’t tell Borden than things she could. Maybe that should concern her, but she just felt numb.

* * *

After the team were done for the day, Jane hesitated outside Kurt’s office, looking through the glass. He was scowling down at a stack of printed documents, reading through something that was probably something to do with protocol for the Bulgarian mess. The mess she’d helped to exacerbate.

She was just about to back away from the door and head for the FBI’s gym facilities when he looked up and noticed her. His expression immediately softened and became more welcoming, and he beckoned her in.

“How’s the paperwork?” she asked, as she closed the door behind her.

“Hell. But I’ll get through it, eventually.” He put it in his desk drawer, locked it, and stood up. “You ready to go home?”

Despite how on edge she’d been all day, she couldn’t help but smile. “Home. That sounds nice.”

He pulled her into a hug. “How you holding up? Your session with Borden go okay?”

Jane cast her mind back, her stomach churning a little at the reminder of the stressful session. “I guess so.” She pulled back and shrugged. “It’s hard to judge with these things. He asked a lot of questions about my feelings. I gave him a lot of redacted answers. I just…hope it’s still helping.”

“I’m sorry you can’t be more honest with him, Jane. I know it would help to be able to speak your mind about a lot of this stuff. If you want to talk to me, about the things you can’t tell Borden…”

Jane nodded. “Thanks. I think I’d rather just not think about it for now, though.”

She could tell that didn’t sit well with Kurt, but she couldn’t keep talking and thinking about this stuff every day, _and_ suffer through the nightmares that were sure to plague her sleep. She just wanted to rest and do normal things. Her remembered life—and what she remembered from her life as Remi—had been so different to the lives everyone else seemed to have. Even for the other members of CIRG, this seemed to just be their jobs, and when they clocked out for the night, things reverted to normalcy. She couldn’t even imagine what that was like. From the moment she’d woken up to find herself in a bag, her free time had been spent obsessing over the mysteries her tattoos held, as she kept her body in shape to face whatever came next.

“Come on. Let’s go home. I’ll cook you dinner, you can take a bubble bath, and then we can decide what to do for the rest of the evening. Sound good?”

It sounded so much better than good that tears came to her eyes. “Yeah. Sounds great.”

He didn’t push her for an explanation of her sudden emotional moment, instead gathering his things and logging out of his computer for the night. By the time he was ready to go, Jane had herself under control.

* * *

Kurt hated feeling helpless, but he had to face up to the facts: when it came to Jane’s psychological distress, he was essentially useless when it came to preventative measures. Unless she wanted to talk about it—and she’d already told him repeatedly that she didn’t—he could only try to make her life easier while she suffered through it.

First he ran a bubble bath for Jane. Sarah had left some of her toiletries when she’d moved out, and he’d stashed them away in his bathroom cabinet for when she decided to visit, or in case he had other guests over. It would be a little weird to have his girlfriend smell like his sister, but since he preferred to take showers, Sarah’s bath foam was all he had.

He was pretty sure Jane preferred showers too, but Nas had told him earlier that she’d noticed Jane had been startled by the smallest of unexpected noises all day. She needed to relax, and if he had to run the bath for her, so she didn’t feel like she could refuse it, then he would.

“Jane? Your bath’s ready.”

She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring out into the night, and as Nas had warned him, she flinched a little at the sound of his voice. He waited for her to register his words before approaching as she rose from the couch.

“Thank you,” she murmured, slipping her arms loosely around his neck and giving him a tiny smile. “I’m having trouble managing the small, obvious things right now.”

He gave her a light kiss, then turned her towards the bathroom. “Go on. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Cooking was something Kurt had always enjoyed. Emma Shaw, Taylor’s mother, had taught him the basics as a teenager, as a way to distract him after his own mother had run off. She’d lost a child, and he’d lost a parent—both his parents, since he’d shut his father out of his life as much as possible after Taylor’s disappearance—and as she’d taught him a valuable life skill, they’d each gained something they’d thought would be lost to them from then on.

Kurt wondered what Emma would have made of Jane—not when she’d been posing as Taylor, but as herself, Jane Doe. He imagined that if Emma had met Jane without knowing the complications of Remi’s plans and family ties to terrorism, they’d probably get on well. Emma was easy-going, non-judgmental and empathic, and always saw the best in people, with the exception of Kurt’s father. She’d probably have treated Jane like a part of the family, just as she had Kurt.

As he prepared beef stroganoff, Kurt turned his mind from the past to the future again. Had Jane’s nightmares last night been as bad as the night before, when they’d been in Sofia? Would she rest any easier tonight? He hoped so, but he wasn’t holding his breath. She’d probably wake them both at least twice before the sun rose.

Any amount of interrupted sleep was worth having Jane here, though. He’d never say her PTSD was a blessing, but it had drawn them together quicker than they might have moved otherwise—if they’d ever gotten together at all. If not for having to watch her suffer through her nightmares and tend to her wounds after the black site, he might have harboured a grudge against her for her actions with Oscar for a lot longer.

Hearing a scuffle behind him, he found Jane pulling one of the chairs out from beneath the breakfast bar, cocooned in the fluffy grey bathrobe she’d brought from her safehouse. Her hair was damp and what little makeup she usually wore was gone from her face. She looked exhausted, but more relaxed than before.

“Hey. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Smells amazing.” She fidgeted, then said, “Can I help with anything? I feel kind of awkward just sitting here watching you do things for me.”

He had to turn his back to her to keep an eye on everything at this late stage of cooking. “Nothing left to do. Trust me, I don’t mind.”

“Okay, but next time you’re sick or injured, I’m gonna do everything for you. Except cook. You’ll thank me for not doing that. But I’ll definitely order you in some good food.”

He grinned and grabbed a couple of plates. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Jane ate a little less than he’d hoped, but more than he’d expected, given that she’d barely touched food on the way home from Europe. She started to stifle yawns halfway through the meal, and though it was still early when they finished cleaning up, Kurt suggested they get an early night anyway. Every second of restful sleep she got would benefit her, even though the nightmares were bound to come back.

“No,” Jane said, her expression haunted. “I’m sorry, I just…really don’t want to sleep yet.”

They ended up watching TV, Jane’s head in Kurt’s lap while he ran his fingers through her freshly dried hair. As he’d expected, she was asleep within ten minutes, and he turned down the volume so the ad breaks wouldn’t startle her awake again.

He dozed a little himself, then woke to find Jane hadn’t moved, her features still peaceful and her breathing even. There was no way he’d risk waking her until he had to, so he stayed put, leaning forward just enough to position a cushion behind him, so he could get a little more sleep himself.

The next time he woke, Jane was nowhere to be seen, and he distantly heard the bathroom faucet running. It was after one in the morning—they’d managed about three hours of sleep—and he shut off the TV and lights before tapping on the partially open bathroom door.

“Jane?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She dried her face on a towel before turning to face him, the tension her bath had eased now back in her shoulders.

“Bad dream?” He reached out to brush her hair back from her face.

“I woke myself up before it got worse. I’ll be okay.” She gave him a forced, weary smile, barely meeting his eyes.

“Sure you don’t want to tell me about it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I just want to write it down for Borden and then forget about it.” She moved past him to the door, and he let her go, knowing she could be touchy about too much physical contact after some of her nightmares. “You go on to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Trying not to feel hurt or rejected by her refusal to let him in, Kurt brushed his teeth and got into bed. He wanted to stay awake until she joined him in the bedroom, but he fell asleep despite himself, and when Jane woke him with her terrified cries, he realised she’d fallen asleep on the couch.

As he began the process of gently waking her from her nightmare, he fought the increasing sense of helplessness watching her in distress always left him with. He might not be able to take away her pain, but at least he could wake her before the nightmares drained all her energy. At least that was something.

 


	64. At Risk

Kurt didn’t recognise the number that flashed up on his cell phone’s screen, but he figured that since he had a couple of minutes until Pellington arrived for their meeting, he might as well take the call. “Hello?”

“Is that Mr. Weller?” a hesitant male voice asked on the other end of the line, and Kurt smothered his impatience. This was probably a cold caller, but they had a job to do like everyone else, so he’d at least let the guy tell him why he was calling.

“Yeah. What can I do for you?”

“I’m, um… I’m really sorry to bother you, sir, but I’m calling about Jane Doe, your girlfriend? At least, I think she’s your girlfriend from the way you guys act, but I don’t want to presume—”

Kurt was immediately on his feet, all thoughts of his impending meeting gone. “She okay?”

“That’s the thing,” the guy said apologetically. “My name is James, and I work at New York Fitness and Training—the gym you guys are members of? Part of my job is to keep an eye out for anyone using the equipment incorrectly or overdoing it, or basically putting themselves at risk.”

Kurt closed his eyes, concerned, but not surprised. “And Jane is?”

“Yeah. She’s been working out like a demon for over two and a half hours now. She’s starting to stumble on the treadmill, her arms are shaking when she uses the rowing machine or bench press—she’s gonna injure herself if she doesn’t stop soon. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she gave me this…this _look_ , like if I didn’t leave her alone she’d attack me or something. I’m not saying I feared for my life, but…”

 _Oh, Jane…_ Kurt sighed. “Okay. I don’t suppose you noticed if she happens to have her phone with her?”

“Hang on.” There was a brief pause, then James came back on the line. “I can’t see a phone anywhere near her.”

“I’ll come and get her. Thanks for calling me. Really.”

“No problem, Mr. Weller. I just want her to be safe. She’s been fitness inspiration to a lot of people since she started coming in. It’d be awful if she hurt herself.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Kurt put down his cell phone and grabbed his jacket and keys, mentally calculating how long it would take to drive back to Brooklyn just before rush hour hit.

“You look like you’re planning to leave the building instead of helping me with this conference call, Agent Weller.” Pellington stood in the doorway, one eyebrow arched. It was obvious he wanted an explanation, and Kurt braced himself for the inevitable argument.

“Sir, I know that this is an important call, but I just got _another_ important call, from my local gym. Jane Doe is putting herself in danger of injury right now, and she needs someone she trusts to talk her down, before—”

“Before she does something _else_ to jeopardise the entire Sandstorm operation. I see.” Pellington folded his arms across his chest. “She’s a big girl and she can make her own judgments about her health and physical capabilities. We’re still handling the international incident her terrorist group helped to make in Bulgaria, and the commissioner of the authorities in Sofia is expecting you to be on this call.”

In disbelief, Kurt stared at his superior. “Sir, she has PTSD. She needs help recognising her limits right now.”

“Send Dr. Borden.”

“Borden is in Arizona until Monday,” Kurt told him. Borden had offered to cancel his trip if Jane needed him, but she’d told him she’d be fine. “And Jane doesn’t have her phone on her, so I can’t get him to call her.”

“I understand that you’re worried for your... _asset_ ,” Pellington said, his emphasis making it clear he suspected Jane was far more than an asset to Kurt, “but this meeting is of utmost importance. Pushing it back or cancelling it could have far-reaching political consequences.”

“Then don’t push it back or cancel it. But with all due respect, sir, I’m leaving this building now. If Jane injures herself again, the physical trauma could make her emotional trauma a lot worse. Her functionality in combat is very important to her, and if she relapses, we could lose our only lead. We need her as stable as possible while she’s undercover. She’s making inroads with Sandstorm and she could be in a position to find out about what they’re planning any day now. I know that if Nas Kamal were here right now, she’d agree with me.”

“It’s out of the question,” Pellington snapped. “I want you in that conference room in two minutes, Agent Weller.”

He turned to leave, but Kurt was at the end of his tether, his worry about Jane and frustration with the Bulgaria situation making him reckless. “Sir, you’re gonna have to handle this one without me, because in the interests of national security and common decency, I’m going to help Jane. If you don’t like it, you can take my badge.”

“Oh, you’re skating on thin ice there, son,” Pellington said, his voice gravelly and dangerous. “Don’t think that I won’t.”

“One of the only things we _do_ know about Shepherd’s plan is that she wants me in Mayfair’s chair, and she’s been watching me since I was a teenager. Removing me from this investigation takes away that puzzle piece. So if you’ll excuse me, Director Pellington…” Kurt stood his ground, hoping he wasn’t about to lose everything by overestimating his importance to his boss.

Pellington stared him out for another couple of seconds, then sighed. “You’re damn lucky you’re my best agent, Weller. Fine. Go. But if you throw your weight around like this in the future, I will end your career in law enforcement with one stroke of a pen.”

He turned and stalked out, leaving Kurt momentarily stunned by his victory. Then he remembered why he’d put his badge on the line in the first place, and he headed for the elevator as quickly as he could without breaking into a jog.

_Jane, I’m on my way._

* * *

The only thing that made Jane feel like her pre-trauma self, these days, was working out.

It had been over a week since she’d moved in with Kurt, and all she seemed to do was wake him with her nightmares. Every night, she offered to go back to her safehouse and leave him to sleep, and every night, he insisted that she didn’t need to. He was patient and understanding and supportive, but she still worried that the lack of sleep would take a toll on him, and maybe even strain their relationship.

She wouldn’t be able to bear losing him. Not on top of everything she’d already lost.

He and Nas had both made her take the day off work today—to ‘rest’, whatever that meant to someone who didn’t get to sleep more than a couple of hours before being woken by horrifying nightmares. So after spending the morning doing nothing and feeling useless and sleepy, she’d headed for the gym.

Breathing hard, her arms and legs trembling a little, she finished up on the rowing machine for the third time, then looked around to figure out which piece of equipment to use next. By the door in the corner, the guy who’d tried to tell her she was overdoing it was still lurking, his worried eyes on her. She turned her back on him, irritated, then felt bad for her attitude. He was only doing his job, but he didn’t understand that she _needed_ this.

At least her fitness was something she could take control of and revel in. If there was one thing she was thankful to Remi for, it was that she’d come out of the bag in peak physical condition. When she’d still been trying to figure out who she was, knowing that she was fit, strong and able to defend herself had been a huge comfort to her. Now that her black site injuries were healed, she’d been training every day to get her muscles back to their former strength. She was nearly there, and when she no longer felt the limitations her captivity had placed on her, maybe she could finally stop replaying memories of her torture in her mind, over and over.

She moved over to the soft mats, as far away from the watchful gym staff member as possible, and did a few stretches before heading back to the bench press equipment. No one had touched it since her last set, so she added five pounds to the weight—to challenge herself—and lay down, taking a moment to stretch out her arms before closing her hands around the barbell.

She was just about to lift when someone leaned all their weight on the bar above her head, preventing her from raising it off the notch. “Jane, stop.”

For a split second, incandescent rage flared through her. How _dare_ some random guy interrupt her workout?

Then she registered Kurt’s voice and her fury drained away, replaced by confusion. She sat up, taking in his anxious expression and the fact that he was still in his work clothes. “Kurt? What’s wrong? Do you need me at work?”

“No. I came here to stop you from hurting your arm again.” He checked her weights. “A hundred and thirty pounds? Jane, do you even _weigh_ that much?”

“Before the black site, I used to be able to lift one-thirty-five.” Still confused, she tried to stand up, but her knees wouldn’t support her all of a sudden, and she landed hard back on the bench.

Kurt sat beside her, taking her hand. “I got a call from someone here, saying he was worried you were pushing too hard and you wouldn’t listen to him.”

Jane turned to scowl at the guy who’d tried to warn her to stop earlier, but he was nowhere to be seen. “What? He has no idea what he’s talking about. I can’t believe he—”

“Jane.” Kurt’s voice was gentle, but firm. “You can’t even stand up right now. You’re shaking like a leaf. The sign-in sheet said you’ve been here more than three hours. I’m glad he called me, because you were two seconds away from straining or tearing a muscle when I walked in here.”

She shook her head. “I know you’re worried, but that’s an exaggeration. I was fine until you stopped me.” _Why did you have to stop me? I need to be stronger. I need to keep moving, or I’ll start remembering again._

“Hey.” He tilted up her chin, made her look directly into his face. “I know you want to get back to how you were before, but you can’t rush it. What happens if you tear your rotator cuff again? You know how long it took to heal before. Imagine not being able to work out at all while you deal with all the demons in your head.”

Jane shuddered just at the thought of it. That just seemed to make her tremble more, and her muscles were beginning to ache as her exercise-induced endorphin rush faded.

“Okay. I’ll stop.” It felt like a defeat, though her logical side told her he was in the right. “I… I’m sorry you had to leave work for this. You should get back.”

Kurt helped her to her feet. “I’m coming home with you. Don’t get changed or shower now—you’ll need to soak those muscles at home. Need someone to grab your stuff from your locker?”

Jane shook her head, embarrassed. “I think I’ve already interacted with the gym staff enough today. I’ll be right back.”

Her legs felt like rubber as she crossed the room, and she shivered a little as she passed under the air conditioning vent in the ceiling, the sweat soaking her clothes now cold enough to cause discomfort. She had to take a moment to lean against her locker, gathering her strength, but not sitting down because she knew she wouldn’t get up again.

As she and Kurt passed the front desk, where the well-meaning gym employee was now stationed, she couldn’t bring herself to look in his direction. Later, she’d have to apologise to him, since the way she’d treated him had been out of line, but for now, she just needed to get out of here.

Kurt thanked the guy quietly as they reached the door, and Jane wondered if her humiliation showed as keenly as she felt it.

By the time they reached the apartment, she was holding back tears, self-loathing taking centre stage in her mind. God, Kurt had come to get her like she was a naughty kid being suspended from school. What had she been thinking? She could have jeopardised the whole Sandstorm operation if she’d injured herself again, because she would have fallen apart.

While she sat down on the couch, Kurt grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and came to crouch in front of her, his concern obvious. “Talk to me, Jane.”

“How can you even stand the sight of me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Kurt twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it over, then said, “You’re not thinking straight right now. It’s the PTSD. I’m not blaming you for any of this.”

Jane drank a little water, then drained half the bottle, suddenly realising how thirsty she was. Kurt gave a small smile and sat beside her on the couch.

“I feel so stupid. How could I be so out of touch with my body’s signals?”

“Not your fault.”

“But you had to come home early, and—”

“Still not your fault.”

She barely registered his words, fear overtaking her. “Kurt, I’m so scared of screwing this up.”

“This?” he asked softly.

She’d meant her relationship with him, but as she thought about it, she realised it wasn’t the only thing. “Everything. Us. The Sandstorm mission. The tattoo cases. Getting better.” Overwhelmed, she shook her head. “When I was in the black site, I had nothing left to lose. But now I have _everything_ to lose if I can’t keep it together.”

“I’m right here, Jane. Every step of the way, you have me to lean on.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, chancing a glance up into his face. The love and concern she found there lifted her spirits, but also made her feel unworthy.

“Did you eat lunch?” he asked, the change of subject confusing her for an instant.

“Yeah.” At least that was one area she hadn’t failed in today.

Kurt nodded. “Okay. It’s still way too early for dinner, so here’s what I want to do. I’m gonna run you a bath…”

Jane couldn’t help but laugh a little, amused by his insistence that she take long, hot bubble baths lately. Not that she minded—she never would have taken the time to do something so self-indulgent if she had to take the initiative to do it herself, but she did enjoy soaking in the tub—but…

Kurt cocked his head. “What?”

“Just finding it funny that you keep throwing me in the bathtub,” she teased, trying to lighten both of their moods.

Understanding crossing his features, he shrugged and smiled. “Usually, because you need to relax. Today, it’s because you overdid it, and the heat will help reduce the soreness.”

“I know.” She leaned in and kissed his jaw affectionately.

“Then, after your bath, I’ll give you a massage.” He grinned as her eyebrows shot up. “Doesn’t have to be _that_ kind of massage. It’s up to you. I just think it’ll do your muscles good.”

Despite how negative her emotions had been today, Jane couldn’t help but wonder what _that_ kind of massage was like. Her physical therapist had given her injured arm and shoulder massages as part of her treatment, but they had been mostly agonising. Her only other experience was massaging her own tired or stiff muscles. Something told her that having Kurt massage her would be a completely different experience.

They hadn’t done more than cuddle since they’d gotten back from Bulgaria. Jane hadn’t been in the right mindset to even consider sex, and Kurt hadn’t pushed. Part of her had missed the intimacy, but part of her had been so exhausted that orgasms seemed like too much effort.

“No promises for today. It depends how much my body hates me after that workout. But sign me up for _that_ kind of massage”—she echoed his emphasis—“sometime soon.”

Kurt gave her a quick kiss. “No pressure, no expectations, okay? Let me go run your bath.”

“Kurt?” she said softly, as he got to his feet.

He paused, all of his attention on her.

“Thank you. For taking care of me.”

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thank _you_ for letting me.”

While he was gone, Jane took off her running shoes, pondering that response. She hadn’t considered that he thought she was doing him a favour by letting him take care of her, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Kurt had a strong protective instinct, and by shutting him out, she wasn’t relieving his burden—she was increasing it.

Maybe she should talk to him about her nightmares more often, if it would make him feel better. But that was something to consider when she didn’t feel quite so shaky and fatigued.

For now, she just wanted to lounge in the bath. And maybe even _that_ kind of massage.


	65. Part of Us

Jane came back into the bedroom wearing only a towel, and a smile that was still a little subdued, but genuine. Kurt put down the book he’d been reading and got up from the bed, stepping forward to meet her. “Feeling better?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ll probably be hurting tomorrow, but for now, it’s not too bad.”

The kiss she gave him was lingering and suggestive, and his pulse quickened. He’d brought up massaging her because he’d wanted to ease the worst of her muscle aches before they developed too far, but when her mind had leapt into the gutter, he’d been only too happy to let her drag him in after her. They hadn’t shared anything more intimate than a kiss since Bulgaria, and he’d respected her need for time and space, but he’d missed losing himself in her.

Taking his cue from Jane, he tugged at the towel she wore. It didn’t take much effort to make it fall to the floor, and she laughed quietly. “That didn’t take long.”

“I promise I’ll take my time with other things.” He kissed her again, unhurried and teasing, smiling against her lips when she began to unbutton his shirt.

Once she’d stripped him down to his underwear, he stepped back before she could distract him further. “Go sit in the middle of the bed. I’ll be there in a second.”

It wasn’t anywhere near dark outside yet, but he’d already closed the drapes, and the room was dim enough to make candles worth lighting. He felt Jane’s eyes on him as he set out a few small tea-lights on each nightstand and lit them one by one.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Kurt Weller?” she teased, her husky voice amused.

“Maybe.” He finished up, then switched off the lamp that had been providing light before, leaving only the tiny, dancing candle flames to illuminate them. He took the massage oil from the nightstand and joined Jane on the bed, nuzzling her shoulder. “Is it working?”

“You should check for yourself.” She took his hand and moved it towards her inner thighs, and he flattened his palm over her lower abdomen, giving her a brief, hungry kiss.

“I could…if you want to skip ahead a little.” God, he was tempted, though he’d been looking forward to massaging her.

Jane made a small, uncertain noise, then leaned against him. “I guess I can wait a while. What do you need me to do?”

He kissed her again, stroking his hand just a little lower until her breath caught. Then he drew back and shifted around behind her, so that she was sitting between his thighs. “Just relax, and let me know if anything hurts too much. That’s all I need.”

As he squeezed a little of the sweet-tasting massage oil into his palm, then warmed it in his hands, he kissed the back of her neck. Jane let out a slow breath, her head falling forward slightly. “That smells so good. What is it?”

“Edible massage oil. Chocolate-covered strawberry flavour.” He smoothed his oil-covered palms over her shoulders as he spoke, covering the area with firm strokes before beginning to work out the knots beneath the skin. Despite the work the hot water of her bath had done to relax her, there was still a lot of tension held in her shoulders, the result of too many nightmares, and more stressful days and nights than she deserved.

Jane sighed appreciatively at his touch. “You just happened to have that lying around your apartment?”

“I ordered it the day after you first spent the night. Just in case. I figured that in our line of work, one of us would need a massage sooner or later.”

“Does it actually taste like chocolate-covered strawberries?” Her voice was a little lazier than usual, making him smile.

He took one hand off her shoulder and reached around to stroke oil across her lips, so she could taste.

Jane surprised him by intercepting his hand and slipping the tip of his finger into her mouth, flicking her tongue across it exactly the way she always did against his cock. Kurt gave a soft groan as she took his finger a little deeper before slowly releasing it, giving the tip a tiny nibble before she let go.

“Oh, you’re bad, Jane Doe.” And if she kept this up, the parts of her getting massaged wouldn’t be any of the muscles she’d worked out today.

She kissed the sensitive pulse-point at his wrist before twisting her upper body enough to look back at him, her expression telling him she knew exactly what effect she was having on him.

He kissed her hard, communicating just how much she was testing his self-control without saying a word. She tried to follow when he pulled back, and he took hold of her shoulders with a grin, turning her to face away from him again. “If you want me to do this, you have to stay put.”

Jane behaved after that, letting him regain his composure as he finished her shoulders and upper back.  They were comfortably silent until Kurt pulled her to lean back against him while he massaged from her left hand all the way up her arm.

“So, did you learn how to do this to impress the ladies?” Jane teased, when he started on her right hand.

Sensing no insecurity about his past relationships in her voice, he laughed. “Might have helped. I did start learning with pure intentions, though. When Sarah was training to be a physical therapist and learning sports massage, sometimes I’d be her practice patient. Needless to say, it was nothing like this. She used to explain what she was doing while she was doing it, to fix it in her head, so I picked up a few bits and pieces. Sometimes she screwed up, and I’d be in pain for a week or two. Then, just after she qualified, I really did wrench my arm. I was one of her first real patients.”

“What were you doing?” If Jane thought having a perfectly casual conversation and mentioning his sister was strange, it didn’t show. He was giving each part of her arm thorough attention, which made it obvious that foreplay was on the back burner for now, anyway.

“I was still pretty much a rookie agent back then. Two years on the job, maybe. A suspect was evading arrest, he went up onto the rooftop, and he leapt over the alley to the next building. It was maybe a twenty-five, thirty foot drop, and this guy was probably six foot five, maybe even taller. His legs were longer than mine.” He finished Jane’s right arm and reached for the massage oil again.

“Why do I get the feeling you jumped?”

Kurt kissed the oil derricks tattooed at the top of her back, amused by the trepidation in her voice. “I knew I could make the jump, so I started sprinting. My partner of the time yelled at me that I couldn’t make it across, but I ignored him, leapt over the gap, just about managed it, but my landing was a little off. Meanwhile, the guy had run across to the opposite side of the building, realised there was no fire escape or anywhere to run on that side, and doubled back around to try the fire escape above where _I_ was jumping. My partner shot him, but not before the suspect kicked me in the chest, and I went flying off the roof.”

Under his hands, Jane had tensed up again, and he told her, “Maybe this isn’t the best story to get you to relax.”

“You can’t just stop it _now_ ,” Jane protested.

Kurt relented. “On my way down, I got lucky and managed to catch one of the fire escape railings, about halfway to the ground. That’s how I wrenched my arm—right out of its socket, actually— but it slowed my fall enough that I didn’t break every bone in my body when I landed in a dumpster.”

Jane gave a pained hiss in sympathy. “If that’s the kind of thing that happened to you as a rookie, I’m glad you survived long enough for me to meet you.”

He smiled. “Yeah. Me, too. My partner never let me live the dumpster part down, though. My ego was bruised for about five years.”

“Whatever works,” Jane said. “If I could remember the things I did on my first few military missions, I bet I’d have something to rival that one.”

“And that’s the last death-defying story I’m gonna tell you today,” Kurt finished.

“Remind me to ask you for more stories from your rookie days later, then.” Jane hugged her knees while Kurt began to massage farther down her back, where the tattoo of his surname began. “You don’t want me to lie down?”

“Can if you want, now your arms are finished.” He moved aside while she stretched out on her stomach, and he wondered for the millionth time how he’d managed to get a girl as beautiful, resilient, talented and determined as Jane to fall in love with him.

She glanced over her shoulder as he gazed down at her tattooed body, and smiled. “You’re staring.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “If you were me, you’d stare at you, too. You’re stunning, Jane.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking touched and self-conscious all at once. Before he could ask her about her uncertainty, she looked away again, and the moment was lost.

Not wanting to rest too much of his weight on her when she’d already stressed her body so much today, Kurt sat to one side of her hips instead of straddling them. As he warmed more oil between his palms, Jane adjusted a pillow beneath her head and got more comfortable.

“I used to hate the tattoos. Those first few days, after I came out of the bag, I just used to stare at them and…”

He was quiet, sensing she had more to say. While he stroked slowly and firmly up and down her back, she sighed, her lips curving a little. He thought he’d derailed her train of thought, but after a while she continued where she’d left off.

“At first I used to panic, cry. Look at myself in the mirror and wonder, ‘Why me? What is all this _for?_ ’ But then we started solving more and more cases. I could see each tattoo and think ‘this one helped us take Trakzer offline’ or ‘this one pointed us to the CDC so we could stop a biological attack’. Things that I could be proud of having helped with, even if I didn’t understand where the tattoos came from, or why I’d been chosen.”

Kurt made a non-verbal noise to show he was listening, not wanting to interrupt her, or accidentally steer the conversation anywhere she didn’t want to go—towards Sandstorm or Keaton. As he began to slide his thumbs up and down either side of her spine, applying more pressure than before, Jane gave a tiny groan of encouragement.

“How are you an FBI agent and not a massage therapist?”

“Have you ever been to a _real_ massage therapist?” he asked, amused.

“Not that I can remember. But I doubt it feels much better than this.” When he leaned down to trail soft kisses down the lower portion of her spine, Jane laughed. “And something tells me massage therapists don’t use that particular technique.”

“Not the reputable ones, anyway.”

As he focused on her lower back, which necessitated a little gratuitous groping of the upper part of her ass, Kurt wondered if she’d forgotten where she was going with her monologue about the tattoos. But as the fruit-scented oil was absorbed into her skin and he reached for the bottle again, Jane picked up her train of thought.

“So after a while, I stopped hating the tattoos. I didn’t choose them, so I didn’t really have any strong feelings of liking them, but they stopped being something that ruined my mood. And then I saw the way you look at them. Not the pictures, on the screen, when we’re trying to solve them…but on me.”

He smiled, unable to resist moving down to massage where her ass met the tops of her thighs, then moving in just a fraction, teasing her with future possibilities. “We’re back to the part about staring now, huh?”

“Full circle,” Jane agreed, a slightly breathless note to her voice as he dipped his thumbs between her thighs, just brushing her labia for a moment before turning his attention outward again. “Kurt…”

He grinned as she tilted her hips against the bed. “I’ll admit it—it was hard not to stare at you at first. You were like a living puzzle, and you had my name on your back. But it wasn’t the tattoos that drew me to you.” One more ‘accidental’ pass between her legs, still not seeking her clit, just tantalising her with the idea…then he shifted backwards, down to take one of her feet in his hand.

Jane mumbled something frustrated against her arm, and he swallowed the urge to laugh. Holding her ankle tightly enough to dissuade an involuntary kick if she was ticklish, he ran his fingers down the inner arch of the bottom of her foot. She curled her toes a little, but didn’t giggle or squirm, so he began to apply pressure, smiling when she gave another appreciative sigh.

Instead of focusing on one leg at a time, he did both of her feet first, trying to remember what he’d been talking about before he’d gotten side-tracked. “I didn’t look at the tattoos and think, ‘Those are hot.’ They intrigued me, but they weren’t…” He stopped, trying to find the right words.

“A fetish?” Jane suggested.

“Yeah. If you’d just showed up with my name written on your back with a Sharpie, or if my name had been on the tag of the bag you’d been in… I would still have found you just as beautiful as with the full-body tattoos. I guess I even assumed that I found you attractive in spite of them, at first. But then you covered them up when we went undercover together, in the Hamptons.”

He noticed a tiny shiver pass through her body, and looked up from massaging her left calf muscle, concerned. “You cold?”

“No.” She lifted her head off the pillow and looked over her shoulder at him, her expression holding more than just a hint of lust. “Just remembering that day. The dancing. The combat. You looking at me like you wanted to rip that dress off me…”

Unable to stop himself, he moved up her body on his hands and knees to kiss her, hard and deep. Jane rolled onto her side, reaching for him, but he drew away before she could pull him down to the bed. “I’m not done with your legs yet.”

Jane groaned and lay down, and he sat back within reach of her calves before continuing, “Yeah, you looked amazing in that dress. And I did have a lot of improper thoughts about what I wanted to do to you that day. But it wasn’t until we got back to the NYO and changed out of the formalwear that I realised how much I’d missed the tattoos. Not because of how they look, but because they’re unique to you. They’re a part of you, and I guess they’re a part of _us_.”

“That’s what it is,” she said, almost to herself.

A little unsure what she meant, he waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. “What _what_ is?” he asked, smoothing more warm oil over her inked skin.

“The way you look at the tattoos. When they’re on the screen, you’re analytical. You’re looking for clues, trying to figure things out. But when you look at them on my body, you don’t see the puzzles or the connotations or the deception that put them there. You look at my skin the way you would any other part of my body, just as a part of me.”

He looked down at the tattooed skin between his fingers and smiled. “And because it’s a part of you, I find it very, very attractive. Which brings us back, yet again, to staring at you.”

“The reason I started talking about the tattoos is because when I look at them from your perspective, I feel good about them. I never thought I’d have that, but it really helped me to accept them. I guess I just…wanted to thank you for that.”

Kurt paused the massage for a few seconds to rest his palm on the small of her back. Since the very first few days of knowing her, he’d wanted her to be at ease with who she was, unassailed by the demons in her mind. To learn that he’d managed to slay one of those demons without even knowing it—that affected him more than he could express. A little overwhelmed, he had to take a breath before he spoke.

“You’re welcome, Jane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise they're gonna get it on next chapter! :D


	66. Relaxed

_I’m so lucky that this man loves me._

As Kurt finished up massaging the backs of her thighs, Jane wasn’t sure if she could move—not because she was in pain, but because she was so relaxed. She was under no illusions that she wouldn’t still be a little stiff and sore in the morning, but for now, the only tension held within her was purely sexual.

“You’re running out of places to massage.”

Kurt leaned over and nuzzled her neck. “You think so?” He kissed a path down her spine, all the way to her tailbone, then sat up. “Turn over.”

Jane rolled over and gazed up at him, wishing she could summon the energy to sit up and kiss him. Despite the fact that she knew him better than she knew anyone else—maybe even with herself included—he looked a little mysterious in the candlelight, light and shadows playing across his face.

He warmed another small puddle of oil between his hands before laying them on her abs, then gliding them up to just below her breasts. Jane slid her own, oil-free hands up his forearms, just for the joy of being able to touch him. “How much longer are you gonna keep teasing me?”

Kurt smiled. “Where’s the fun in telling you that?”

Jane gave him a pleading look, and after a minute or so more he gave in, massaging up over her breasts before teasing her nipples with slick fingers. _Yes…finally…_ She arched against his touch, then rose up on one elbow for long enough to slide her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

He followed her down to the bed, his lips betraying the need behind what had seemed like endless patience. Supporting his weight on one arm, he continued to massage the oil into her breasts with his other hand as she met his fervent kisses with her own.

When he began to kiss and lick his way down to her nipples, her heart skipped. She loved his touch, but there was something about having his mouth on her that she found powerfully erotic. As he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, then gently bit down, she ran her fingers through his close-cut hair, her anticipation growing.

“You taste so good. Maybe I should just lick all the places I’ve already done, make sure I didn’t miss a spot.”

“Trust me. You missed a spot,” Jane told him pointedly, and he laughed against her breast, his amused eyes meeting hers as he continued to cover her chest with open-mouthed kisses.

“I didn’t mention this oil isn’t meant to go there?” he asked, his fingers trailing suggestively down her lower abdomen.

Jane couldn’t help an involuntary noise of frustration. _After all this build-up?_ “Kurt…”

He sat up, leaving her a little confused for a second, but when he took something else out of the nightstand drawer, her pulse spiked.

“That’s what this is for,” he told her, holding up another small bottle.

She watched while he cleaned the rest of the oil from his hands, then tipped a little of whatever was in the new bottle into his palm. “Gonna tell me what that is?”

“Something that _is_ meant to go here.” He dipped his hand between her thighs, slowly massaging the slippery lubricant over the whole area.

Jane let her eyes flutter closed, enjoying his touch and moaning softly when he reached her clit. Kurt kept her wanting, continuing to kiss across and down her abdomen while he used his thumbs to alternately excite and frustrate her.

“Please,” she begged. “It’s been so long already. I want—”

She forgot how to form words as Kurt finally pulled her legs over his shoulders, then dipped his head between her thighs for a long, slow taste. His mouth felt amazing against her sensitive clit, and she half-moaned his name, pressing up against his tongue.

How could he be so impatient while they were working cases, yet so willing to spend what seemed like an infinite amount of time on her pleasure? She was already so relaxed that the orgasm that began to build felt different, somehow. Her body wasn’t coiling up the way it usually did, yet the intensity was still rising, making her gasp and writhe.

Kurt slid a finger inside her, then a second, and she tilted her hips in the same rhythm as his shallow strokes over her sweet spot. Everything felt almost too much, the sensation concentrated and overwhelming.

“Oh, god, I can’t…” she said, but Kurt didn’t stop, increasing his pace as her thighs began to shake.

Dimly, she realised she was crying out, wordless noises of hedonistic pleasure that she couldn’t stop from tearing from her throat. How did this feel so good when she was hardly tense at all?

Suddenly, her whole body was arching with an intense orgasm, pleasure rippling over her skin and making her clench inside in deep, shuddering pulses. It kept going long after she’d expected it to stop, even as Kurt took off his underwear, moved up and into her, then cut off her moans with a hard, hungry kiss.

Jane wrapped her arms and legs around him, still high on the sensations he’d provoked within her. “Fuck me, Kurt,” she whispered in his ear, and he slammed into her harder, faster, taking what he needed from her as her world tipped into another wave of heated pleasure.

It took them long, lazy moments to collect themselves afterwards. “Can’t move,” Jane murmured, as he settled himself more comfortably beside her.

“You don’t have to.” He kissed her shoulder, then licked it. “Mmm…you still taste like chocolate-covered strawberries.”

“Love you,” she told him, her brain fuzzy and exhausted.

If he replied, she didn’t register it, the relaxation from her massage and the orgasms tugging her down into sleepy oblivion.

* * *

Kurt pulled on some sweatpants and a T-shirt quietly, then checked Jane was properly covered with a blanket before he left the bedroom. If she didn’t get some decent rest now, after hours of exercise, a hot bath, a massage and sex, he didn’t think anything short of heavy-duty sleeping pills would work. Jane was adamant she couldn’t take sleeping medication in case Sandstorm called her in at short notice, and as much as he hated to admit it, her mission was too important to risk her slipping up while half-sedated.

It was still only about six in the evening, and he considered leaving Jane a note and going back to the NYO to make amends with Pellington. Then he remembered the state she’d been in last night, when she’d sleepwalked halfway across the apartment before he’d woken to her yelling in Bulgarian, English, and another language he hadn’t quite managed to identify. She wasn’t getting any better, and he cursed Keaton for the millionth time for making her relapse.

A few hours later, coming up on ten p.m., he heard the familiar beeping of the pager Roman used to contact Jane, and swore under his breath. He got up from the couch and headed into the bedroom, where Jane was pushing her hair back off her forehead, staring sleepily down at the small electronic device in her lap.

“Hey,” he said softly. “They calling you in?”

“At this time of night, probably setting a time for a meet tomorrow. I need to get down to the payphone to be sure which.” She got out of bed, flinching a little as her overworked muscles protested. Even after all the precautions they’d taken to ease her aches and pains, she’d probably be sore for a couple of days.

“Roman picks his moments,” Kurt muttered.

Jane got out of bed and headed over to the drawer he’d cleared out so she’d have room for her clothes. “Hey, at least I slept for about four hours.”

“You probably would have managed another four if he hadn’t woken you.”

Jane finished dressing, then stretched her arms up over her head, yawning. “I might still manage it, if I don’t have to go anywhere tonight. But if I don’t come back from the payphone within a few minutes, assume that Roman was nearby and picked me up.”

He pulled her into a hug as she approached the bedroom door, holding on for long moments. “Stay safe,” he told her. “I love you.”

She smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “It’s probably for tomorrow. Don’t worry. But I love you, too.”

After she left, Kurt paced the apartment restlessly, hating the helplessness that always took over when Jane had to go undercover without him. When she came back in, he tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious. “What did he want?”

“Shepherd wants me to go to the compound tomorrow after work.” Jane kicked off her shoes again, then went to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. “It’ll be the first time since I let Cade escape. I hope she’s in a better mood by now.”

Kurt nodded. “Did Roman say anything else?”

“Just wanted to know how I was sleeping. I think he really does worry about me.” She shook her head, a little perplexed. “Things were a lot simpler when I thought I had no family.”

Even with his own conflicted emotions around his father, Kurt couldn’t imagine how complicated things were for her now. “You hungry? You slept through dinner.”

“I’ll grab a sandwich or something,” Jane said, glancing towards the refrigerator.

“Sit down. I’ll make it.”

“Kurt…” Despite the token protest, she sat down at the breakfast bar, smiling a little.

“So before the pager woke you, were you sleeping okay? No nightmares?”

“No nightmares,” she confirmed, watching him take ingredients out of the refrigerator and begin to prepare a sandwich for her. “Though who knows? Roman might have woken me up just in time to avoid one.”

Kurt hesitated, not wanting to make her more stressed, but wanting to offer support, somehow. “I know you’re talking to Borden…but if you want to talk to me about what happened in Bulgaria, or in Oregon, or with Cade…”

He trailed off, reading the flat refusal in her face. She was shutting him out again—she’d take practical support from him, and lean on him in a crisis, but when she was calm, she refused all emotional support.

“It’s okay. Borden will be back after the weekend. And really, talking about it is only half of the therapy. The rest of it, I have to work through in my own head.”

“You don’t think I can help with that?” He put her sandwich on a plate and slid it over to her, then started making a smaller one for himself with the leftovers.

“Kurt…” Jane looked up at him, her expression conflicted. “I know you hate not being able to help. But talking to Borden is hard enough, and he’s completely unconnected to the situation. I know you still feel guilty about Keaton taking me from your custody, and I just want to spare you the details, okay?”

_Oh, Jane…_

“Whatever you feel most comfortable with,” he said, taking her hand across the breakfast bar. “But don’t shut me out just because you think I can’t handle it. I already have a pretty good idea about what happened, from what I saw in Oregon after you escaped. I’m here for you.”

She gave him a forlorn smile. “I know you are. I promise. And you make me stronger just by being with me. I know you think you’re not doing enough to help me, but Kurt… I couldn’t ask for a more supportive partner. Thank you.”

He wished he could see it in the same light she did. Jane didn’t seem to believe she deserved much sympathy or understanding at all, so of course what he did manage to give her was above her expectations. But he should be able to do more. He _needed_ to do more.

But she needed him to back off, and that was more important. He just hoped that the PTSD and the ongoing stress of the Sandstorm operation weren’t more than she could handle, because he was almost certain that if things got too much for her, she would never admit it.


	67. A Manipulative Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane's meeting with Shepherd leaves her feeling ashamed of the way she has to talk about Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there's been such a delay with this fic. I promise it's not dead! This chapter doesn't really move anything forward, but the next chapter will, since Borden's cover will be broken...

When Roman pulled the bag off Jane’s head in the garage of Shepherd’s compound, she took a deep breath, her eyes narrowed against the sudden change of light. “Think she’ll slap me again today?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Watch what you say to her, and she won’t have to. C’mon.”

Jane followed him to Shepherd’s office, which was just as neat and tidy as always. Shepherd looked up from her laptop and gave her a lukewarm smile. “Remi. You’re back. Fill me in on Bulgaria first. Then I want to know about how things are progressing with Weller.”

_What, no hug this time, Mom?_

Jane sat down carefully, her muscles still aching from overdoing her workout the day before. The hot bath and massage had helped reduce the damage, but she still felt achy and out of sorts. She kept that to herself, though—any sign of weakness was a failing to Shepherd.

Remembering Roman’s remark about Sandstorm having people in Bulgaria, Jane launched into a true account of the FBI’s mission to Sofia, including the fact that Keaton had been tailing them. When she got to the part where they were ambushed in the safehouse by unknown forces, she watched Shepherd carefully for any reaction, but her adopted mother didn’t let anything show. If Remi had ever figured out how to tell when Shepherd was hiding something, that memory was lost to Jane.

 “I didn’t get much of a chance to inspect the dead, but Weller said they were mostly white men, no identification, no insignia on their gear. Local law enforcement in Sofia hasn’t been able to ID any of the bodies through DNA or facial recognition. Whoever wanted Douglas Winter dead, they’re part of a group that’s very good at hiding their tracks.” Jane paused. “Do _you_ have any idea who they could have been?”

“Not yet,” Shepherd said. “We’re looking into it, but it seems they might be using similar tactics to us when it comes to staying under the radar. Maybe contacts high up in their country’s military or law enforcement. All sorts of groups might be interested in Douglas Winter—though not for long, if he was really framed, the way he said. Any idea who might have done it?”

Jane shook her head. “They used voice modulators, and the recording Winter had wasn’t great quality. Patterson couldn’t do much with it.” She leaned forward, hiding the lie with fake curiosity. “Is this something we can use? Winter isn’t related to the tattoo cases we’ve been working, so...”

Shepherd shrugged and smiled. “Probably it won’t come to anything, but all knowledge is worth having.”

_How about your plans for phase two? That would definitely be knowledge I’d be interested in having._

“So you got Winter to the van,” Shepherd prompted.

Jane took her through her fictionalised account of what had happened between her and Keaton before Kurt had interrupted, pretending she’d hurt Keaton more than she had, and that she’d threatened his wife and daughter. “I was going to kill him, but it would have complicated my role in the FBI too much. And then Weller caught up with me, so it wasn’t an option. If I’d just been on my own—”

“At least you got to have a conversation on your terms,” Shepherd said, tapping her fingers against the desk thoughtfully. “Roman mentioned to you that I’d like Keaton back in the country before phase two, correct?”

“Yeah. Did he tell you my theory that there’s a phase three?”

“He did. I’m surprised you put those pieces together, but maybe I shouldn’t be. After all, you did already know Weller was going to play an important role, with or without Taylor Shaw.”

“You couldn’t find someone better than Keaton?” The bitterness in her voice was more obvious than she’d intended.

“Compared to Carter, Keaton is much better. Don’t get me wrong—he’s far from a Boy Scout. But the CIA is a very different organisation to the FBI. It requires flexible morality. Keaton will bend, but not too far. And only in the ways we can live with.”

Jane bit her tongue hard, quelling her urge to call Shepherd on her bullshit. Sanctioned torture of people not proven to be terrorists seemed like more than just ‘flexible morality’ to her.

“Don’t pull that face, Remi.” Shepherd closed her laptop and smiled. “Your aversion to Jake Keaton has been noted. You won’t have to work with him.”

“Thanks.” Jane did her best to look grateful, but got the impression that Shepherd could see through her. Luckily, it didn’t matter. “So was I right? About there being a phase three?”

“You know everything you need to know, for now.”

Jane was unable to keep the frustration from her face. “How long are you going to keep me in the dark? Maybe if I knew more, I could be useful to you—”

“You play your part, and we’ll play ours. Trust us, Remi. Before you took the ZIP, you understood your part in the plan.”

Jane gritted her teeth and did her best to get herself under control. “Understood.”

“How are things progressing with Weller? Are you in his bed yet?” Shepherd asked.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack.” Roman pushed off the wall, where he’d been leaning, and left the room.

Jane couldn’t help but laugh at his obvious discomfort. She wouldn’t want to know about any intimate missions he’d been working, either. She and Shepherd shared an amused glance as the sound of her brother’s footsteps receded down the hallway, before Jane cleared her throat, inwardly steeling herself. This would be tough. She’d already gone through this performance in her head a couple of times, knowing it was vital she didn’t come across as too invested in Kurt.

Whether she could make Shepherd buy it was of critical importance. _Here goes…_

“It’s going as planned. It’s not really a hardship, since there is a little chemistry there already. I wouldn’t pursue him if there wasn’t an advantage, because he left me to rot with the CIA for three months, but I get the feeling he’s considerate in bed, so at least there’s that.”

“Count yourself lucky it’s not Sam Pellington you’re trying to seduce,” Shepherd said dryly.

Jane didn’t have to fake her shudder. Pellington barely tolerated her, and avoided speaking to her whenever possible. “I don’t even know where I’d start with Pellington.”

“Tell me the plan for Kurt.”

“I’ve been capitalising on the connection we had when he still thought I was Taylor Shaw. It didn’t take much to convince him I was still the same person, even though I wasn’t who he thought I was. It helps that to him, I’m still poor Jane Doe, so confused at having her identity ripped from her twice. Weller is a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

Shepherd smiled approvingly, as though Remi manipulating innocent men was her standard operating procedure. From what Roman had told Jane, that wasn’t too far off.

Jane’s stomach churned, but she kept outwardly casual and continued, “I managed to get him to kiss me a couple of times, but nothing much past second base. He’s the noble type, so getting him past the whole idea that he’d be taking advantage of poor, traumatised Jane is gonna be difficult. But I’ll get there. Probably by next week at the latest.”

Shepherd leaned back in her chair, nodding. “That doesn’t surprise me. Kurt is ethical almost to a fault. You might need to give him a little push to get him over that. What’s your plan?”

“I’m already wearing practically nothing to bed, and he wakes me up from nightmares every night, so he definitely sees. I’ve caught him looking a few times. Last night I ‘accidentally’ ran into him in my underwear after I ‘thought he was asleep’, and he excused himself _very_ quickly.” She rolled her eyes for good measure, then paused, pretending to consider. “I’m thinking the best way to push him is to I’ll tell him I’d feel safer if I could just sleep in his bed with him. Just to sleep, naturally.”

“You think he’ll buy it?”

Jane snorted, gesturing dismissively. “Between the big, teary eyes and the pleading voice, he’ll fall for it hook, line and sinker. Men are so gullible when they get a hint that there might be sex, and Weller’s no different. It won’t cross his mind that I might manipulate him, not when I’m crying and apologising for being such a burden. He wants me too much. So then we’ll go to sleep in his bed, I’ll get him to put his arms around me while he’s asleep, and when he wakes up with morning wood…”

“He won’t be able to resist you. Typical man.” Shepherd was watching her carefully. “I sense you’re conflicted.”

_Damn it._

Jane sighed. “Truthfully? It’s still a little soon after Oscar’s death. But I know he’d understand. I don’t remember much about our life before the ZIP, but he did ask me to sleep with Weller back before I knew who I am, and Roman said we had…an understanding.”

“You did. The mission came first for both of you, always.” Shepherd reached across the desk and patted her hand, her sympathy a little too heartfelt.

It took everything Jane had not to pull away.

“You’re doing well, Remi. I know you’re experiencing problems with the PTSD, but it seems that out of those challenges, new opportunities are arising. So let’s go with them, shall we?”

Sensing she was being dismissed, Jane stood up. “I won’t let you down, Shepherd.”

“I know you won’t.” Shepherd opened her laptop again. “I hope Weller is good enough in bed to make up for having to spend so much time undercover with him.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep that part of the mission need-to-know.”

_God, get me out of here._

An hour later, when Roman told her she could take the bag off her head, Jane frowned out at the Manhattan skyline. “Shepherd didn’t mention Cade.”

“Yeah. We don’t speak his name now.” Roman glanced over. “Did _you_ speak his name?”

“I kinda…didn’t dare.”

Roman grinned. “Yeah, best to keep it that way. If it never happened, then Shepherd didn’t fuck up by making _you_ fuck up.”

“And that way, she stays perfect and infallible. Got it.” Jane filed away the information for possible later use. As Shepherd had said, all knowledge was worth having.

* * *

Kurt had been half-watching the football game on TV, but when Jane re-entered the apartment, her jaw set and her face pale, he switched it off and got up. “How’d it go?”

Jane sighed and shook her head, making a beeline for him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “She wanted to know my plan for seducing you. I said such awful things about you…”

Kurt held her close, comforting her as best he could. “It’s not how you really feel. I know that.”

A small shudder ran through her. “I laid out this whole plan to get into your bed, and it felt so…manipulative and wrong. I swear, I never planned it out that way with you, Kurt. I never plotted and schemed to make you fall for me.”

He drew back, gazing down into her face. “You didn’t need to. The tattoos were Remi’s plan, but even so… We were just drawn together naturally.”

Jane gave a small smile, some of her distress fading. “I wonder if Remi knew it would be that way?”

“I don’t care about her. It’s you I love.”

She kissed him softly, then rested her head against his shoulder again, her body finally relaxing against his. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

He held her for long moments, hoping to transfer some of his calm to her as he wracked his brain for a way to help her let go of the shame and anger she obviously felt.

 _Make a new memory._ It had worked in her apartment when they’d slept together those first few times, but he didn’t know if it would work here. It was worth trying, though. Anything to stop her from spiralling into depression.

“I’m curious. What was this plan?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

“In a nutshell? Wear revealing clothes to bed. Let you wake me up from nightmares. Cry a little and ask if I could sleep in your bed, where I felt safe, then take advantage of you while you were half asleep the next morning.” Another shadow of guilt passed over her face. Discussing it didn’t seem to be helping.

“As a way of seducing me, it probably would have worked. But I like the way it really happened better.”

Jane laughed, looking a little sceptical. “Really? You liked having a gut-wrenching argument, having me use your body for stress relief and then being abandoned immediately afterwards?”

Thinking back to the first time they’d slept together, he couldn’t help but feel a stirring of arousal. “That’s one way of looking at it. But think of it like this: I liked being able to clear the air and tell you that I still wanted you. I liked finally being able to touch you and taste you, the way I’d always needed to, even if we were both angry as hell. And getting you off was even better than I dreamed it would be.”

“Mmmm…” Jane rubbed against him as she registered his growing erection. “When you put it that way…”

He kissed her again, then smiled at the hazy lust in her expression. Dwelling on what happened with Shepherd wouldn’t do her any good, and he was more than happy to distract her. “Do you need to fill Nas in on anything that happened at the compound?”

“Nothing that can’t wait an hour or two.” Jane grabbed his belt buckle and stepped back, towing him slowly towards the bedroom.

“Good, because I need you to demonstrate the part of your plan where you take advantage of me wearing revealing clothing.”

Her low, husky laughter was worth missing the rest of the football game he’d been watching.


	68. One of the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Camp NaNoWriMo again, so I figured I'd have another shot at finishing this fic! Or at least getting a few more chapters towards the end before I get diverted by something else. ;) And I just had to spare Patterson the worst of what she went through in season two. It's bad enough finding out your boyfriend is a terrorist without getting shot, tortured and having a bug implanted in your tooth. Patterson will definitely not have such a hard time of it in this fic, though she will obviously still be devastated.

“Are you okay, Dr. Borden?”

“Hmm? Yes. My apologies, Jane. I didn’t sleep well.” Her therapist smiled, the expression seeming a little forced. “A problem I know you’re intimately familiar with at the moment.”

“If you need to talk…?” she offered, without thinking.

Borden leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “That would be reversing our relationship as therapist and patient. Ethically speaking, I’m not allowed to do that—though I appreciate the offer. Tell me about your first nightmare last night.”

Jane reluctantly focused on the notebook she’d been using to write down her dreams. “Well, no surprises… It involved my torturer again.”

She had very specific ways to refer to things in her therapy sessions, right down to the way she filled out her notebook. She always referred to Keaton as ‘my torturer’, so she didn’t divulge to Borden that she’d been taken and tortured by the CIA. When the team popped up in her dreams, it was usually okay to talk about, although if it was Kurt in a condemning role, she wasn’t able to tell Borden it was because of her arrest. And any members of Sandstorm had to be reframed as suspects from her tattoo cases, so she didn’t give away any classified information about Shepherd, Roman or phase two.

“I… I was torturing a guy, and my torturer was my…my mentor. He was giving me instructions on how to cause the torture victim more pain.” She shuddered, remembering the way Keaton in her dream had smiled approvingly when she’d ripped off one of Cade’s fingernails, as Cade’s screams reverberated through the room.

“Did you know the man you were torturing?” Borden asked.

_Yeah, I was supposed to kill him last week. I framed him for a murder I committed in self-defence. Oh, and the guy I killed? That was my ex-fiancé, who I’d been sleeping with because he was in love with the terrorist I used to be. I was also helping him to frame Mayfair for Tom Carter’s death, and that was one of the primary reasons I was sent to the FBI with all these tattoos and my memory erased._

“No. He was just a random guy.”

Sometimes she thought there was no point in continuing her therapy sessions with Borden. There was so much she had to dance around; so much she wasn’t allowed to tell him. How could he possibly help her without knowing the extent of her trauma?

But she wasn’t allowed to say anything, so she edited herself. Even substandard help was better than none. She wanted to get over this PTSD, wanted to be _better._ For herself, for Kurt, and for her mission.

“So in this dream, you perceived yourself as one of the enemy, torturing a helpless victim. Why do you think that was?”

_Because I literally tortured him last week. I was trying to help him, but I still made him bleed, caused him pain._

“I guess I’m still worried about what kind of person I used to be. What kinds of awful things I’ve done in my past.”

Borden wrote something down. “Have you had any new memories that concern you?”

Jane sighed. “A few flashes. An explosion in what looked like a desert country, maybe somewhere I was deployed when I was a SEAL? A few memories of being a child, in that horrible basement. Kids attacking each other. One of them had a razor blade.” _And he cut my brother’s face with it. He still has the scar._

“That sounds traumatic, but nothing there suggests to me that you’re a bad person. Does it to you?” Was it just her imagination, or had he flinched when she’d mentioned the explosion in a desert country?

“No, I guess not. But… I don’t know. I don’t even know what my brain is trying to tell me with these dreams.”

“It could be that it’s not trying to tell you anything. You’ve gone through some very traumatic experiences, but not everything in a dream has to be relevant to the trauma. For example, someone might dream about an abuser, or a torturer, turning into a giant frog, or something similar. Sometimes what happens in a dream has nothing to do with what actually happened, but it still feels terrifying because your torturer is in the dream.”

Jane nodded slowly.

Their session continued, Jane talking around important details or leaving them out completely, and Borden asking questions that didn’t feel relevant because she wasn’t able to be honest with him. It made her steadily more frustrated, though she knew the therapy’s failings were her own fault—or Nas’, for refusing to read Borden in on the Sandstorm mission.

“You seem irritated,” Borden said. “Why would you say that is?”

_Because I can only tell you a tiny portion of the truth, and if things keep going on this way, I might as well just stop therapy altogether._

“I guess I’m just angry that any of this had to happen. I mean, on top of all the memory issues, the tattoos, being attacked in my safehouse… The torture just seems like one thing too much, and it’s wrecking my life even more than the rest of it, because now I can’t even sleep. And it was three months of pain and fear for nothing. I didn’t break, so they might as well not have taken me in the first place.”

“That’s understandable. When a government agency, one meant to be protecting your rights, instead ignores those rights, it must feel like an injustice.”

* * *

It wasn’t until Jane left her session that Borden’s words sank in.

She’d been lost in her own emotions when he’d commented, going on to tell him how much worse her PTSD had become since encountering her torturer in Bulgaria, and how if he’d just stayed away, her mind might have had an opportunity to heal. At least with this, she could be honest, though she still had to conceal Keaton’s affiliations and identity. She’d been glad to be able to open up about those terrifying minutes that she’d had Keaton tied up and at her mercy.

By the time she realised Borden had been referring to the CIA, not the FBI, she was halfway towards the Zero Division annex. Abruptly, she stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall, sorting through the rest of her memories of him. _How did he know that? I don’t think I let something slip. Could he have guessed?_

She was focusing so hard on her previous sessions with Borden that when a new memory of him hit, she didn’t realise it wasn’t recent for a moment.

After staring into space for a moment, stunned, she veered towards Patterson’s lab.

“Patterson?”

“Hold on a second, I’m just in the middle of some math,” Patterson said distractedly, bent over her desk.

“This can’t wait.”

Patterson looked up sharply, sensing Jane’s distress. “What is it?”

“We need to go to the annex.”

On the way there, Jane couldn’t speak, though Patterson tried to ask what was going on. How badly was she about to hurt her friend? Patterson and Borden had been dating for a few months now. As far as Jane could tell, it was serious between them.

Nas began speaking the moment they got through the annex’s door. “Ah, Jane—just the person I needed to… Are you all right?”

Jane quickly took stock of the occupants of the room, looking from Nas to Reade, Reade to Kurt, Kurt to Zapata. _Thank god. They’re all here._

“Borden is a Sandstorm mole.”

“What?!” Patterson shook her head in total denial, a slight smile on her face, as though she was waiting for the punchline. “That’s ridiculous. I _know_ him. He’s sweet, and kind, a-and—”

“His real name is Nigel Thornton. I first met him in Afghanistan, after the drone strike took out my Orion team. His wife, Chris, was a doctor.”

Patterson wrapped her arms around herself at the word ‘wife’, looking nauseated.

“She saved my life, even though Borden—Thornton—was against me staying with them at first. They both helped me recover. It took a long time for me to heal, but Borden and I were walking in the mountains one day when…when the whole town exploded below us. The government had found me and sent more drones to finish me off, but I wasn’t there. They bombed the town, the hospital… And then I…”

Revulsion rolled through Jane, and she hugged herself tightly. “Remi recruited him to Sandstorm that same day, told him she could help him get revenge for his wife’s death. I’m so sorry, Patterson. I’m so sorry.”

Patterson stared at her for a moment in silence, her features blank, her face pale. Then, without a word, she shouldered past Jane into one of the empty rooms, the door swinging slowly shut behind her.

After a moment, Zapata got up. “I’ll check on her.”

“Thank you,” Jane managed to say, before Kurt enfolded her in his embrace.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Not really,” she replied, hiding her face in his shoulder for a moment. _All those lives ended, just because the government were trying to erase all evidence of Orion. My fault. I should never have tried to find help._

“Jane, how did you remember this?” Reade asked.

“Does Borden know you’re onto him?” Nas added urgently.

“I, uh…” Jane reluctantly pulled out of Kurt’s arms and regained a professional distance, turning her attention to the remaining team members in the room. “I don’t know. I didn’t put it together until I left the room that he’d said something about my being tortured by the CIA. At first I thought maybe I’d slipped up and told him something classified, but as I was trying to remember everything I’d told him, a new memory came into my brain, of how Remi met him and recruited him. I think he’s been here to monitor me the whole time.”

“Did Borden realise he’d slipped up?” Kurt asked.

“He might have by now. If he does, he might run. What do we do? Do I tell him I’ve remembered he’s Sandstorm, but keep my cover? Try to play Remi, the same way I do with Roman and Shepherd?”

Nas wavered for a second, making an indecisive noise. “Borden has psychological training. Even if you do make him a co-conspirator within the FBI, that means you don’t have as much time here to be yourself.”

Kurt added, “Plus, he’s got to be curious about the annex. I’ve seen him outside talking to Patterson a few times. He’d ask Jane why we’re working from here now instead of SIOC, and that’d be another complicated cover story to add to the one she’s telling Shepherd and Roman. Especially if they start telling her to sneak intel to Borden.”

“True. The more we complicate things, the more risk Jane has of slipping up,” Nas agreed.

“So we arrest him, interrogate him. See what he knows about phase two,” Reade said.

Jane shook her head, alarm coursing through her. “No! What if he’s not the only mole in the FBI? Shepherd planted me and Borden—there might be more. We can’t arrest him for being Sandstorm, otherwise Shepherd might be able to see it in his arrest files. Who knows what she has access to?”

“Good point,” Reade said, deflating.

“So we arrest him for something else. Something that’s believable, but doesn’t tie in to terrorism.” Nas paced for a moment, then swung back to face them. “Stealing classified files.”

“That’d make sense.” Kurt’s eyes were still on Jane as he spoke, and she sensed he was worried about her. “Sandstorm would think he was trying to find out more about what you were doing and got caught in the act.”

“I want to be the one to take him into custody,” Patterson said, her voice a little too strong.

They all turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her expression set with determination. Behind her, Zapata gave them all a concerned look.

“Patterson, I—” Jane started.

“Not now.” Patterson cut her off abruptly. “Let me go in and see if he’s spooked. I should be able to tell.”

“No one would blame you if you don’t want to do this, Patterson.” Kurt took a step towards her.

“He could be getting ready to run as we speak. If he isn’t, then we have a little more time to plan, but if he is, we have to act fast. I’m the easiest way to him. He’s expecting me to meet him for lunch in about ten minutes. Let me do this.” Her rigid posture made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You can’t go alone. One of us should be waiting outside the room to back you up,” Zapata said.

“Fine. I’ll take Weller.”


	69. Damage Control

As Patterson stepped towards the door, Jane halted her. “Wait.”

“Jane, I can’t do this right now.”

Kurt could tell Patterson’s hard tone hurt her, but she persisted, “If we arrest Borden on a made-up charge, he might yell about it to the whole building. I would, wouldn’t you? That might get back to Shepherd.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Nas deflating. He hadn’t fully considered it, either.

Patterson scowled at her. “Well, we can’t just let him walk out of here, so what else do you suggest, Jane?”

Jane rubbed her forehead, clearly stressed. “How about… How about you arrest him, then I come in behind you and tell him that I saw him take classified files out of the lab. We make sure that you’re not in a position to see my face, and I silently tell him to play along. That should get him to stay quiet. Then I get the guys in holding to step out, and tell him that Nas, who doesn’t make a secret of the fact that she’s NSA, has been recording people’s therapy sessions while she’s been here, and when she heard him imply that a government agency tortured me, that made her wonder how he knows that. Since the Douglas Winter leaks, people are suspicious enough of the NSA that he’ll probably believe it.”

Nas cleared her throat. “Since you mention it, I…actually do have a bug in Borden’s office.”

Kurt took a deep breath. Jane would _not_ take this well, and he didn’t blame her. He’d never been a fan of therapy, but he knew confidentiality played a huge part in it.

“Oh, that’s great. What next—wanna put a camera in my bathroom, too?”

Nas sighed. “You’re overreacting, Jane. What did you expect—that I would just trust your word that you weren’t thinking about turning? I was analysing your therapy sessions for phrases that indicated you might be going rogue.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have been listening to the guy in the other chair,” Kurt said.

“Stop fighting, all of you!” Patterson yelled. “If we don’t do this soon, we might miss our chance.”

Jane nodded. “We do what I just said, then I tell him that I just remembered him from my old life, and that I’ll confer with Shepherd to come up with some solution for him.”

“That’s actually a pretty good plan,” Zapata said.

“Yeah, but then what?” Reade asked.

“We worry about that later. Let’s get this done.” Patterson turned and walked out.

Kurt reached for Jane’s hand and squeezed. “You got this.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, and went after Patterson.

As the door slid shut behind them, the remaining members of the taskforce exchanged glances.

“Where else have you bugged, Nas?” Kurt demanded. “Jane’s safehouse? My apartment?”

“The therapist’s office seemed sufficient for now,” Nas said, having the courtesy to look a little embarrassed. “If I picked up anything that seemed of concern there, I might have placed further surveillance equipment in the future.”

“I’ll be getting Patterson to sweep my home with the highest level of technology she has. In light of that fact, if there’s anywhere else you need to be right now…”

Nas sat down and crossed her arms. “No need. I’m telling you the truth.”

He stared at her for one more moment, then nodded. “Fine. What’s our next move with Borden? If we’re gonna accuse him of stealing files, we need to find some files for him to steal—but nothing we don’t want Shepherd to know. Give me some ideas, team.”

* * *

Patterson made a stop by her locker for her service weapon on the way to Borden’s office, tucking it into her waistband at the small of her back. She didn’t speak a word to Jane, and Jane didn’t push it.

She could only guess what Patterson was feeling, but Jane was growing steadily more numb, shoving the day’s stresses aside so she could function—from her own recollections, to Patterson’s coldness, to the revelation that Nas really had been listening in to her sessions with Borden...

“Wait here until I tell him about the files,” Patterson said under her breath, not looking at Jane, then knocked on Borden’s door and pushed it open. “Hey, you. Sorry, I’m a little early for lunch. I hope that’s okay.”

“No apologies necessary. Always happy to see you.” Patterson was standing in the doorway, preventing the door from closing, so Jane could hear Borden’s voice—and the very subtle stress in it—clearly.

“You okay?” Patterson asked. “You don’t look so good.”

“I feel quite queasy, actually,” Borden said. “I was about to stop by your lab and tell you I’m planning to go home early, get some rest. I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule our lunch date.”

“Oh, hey, that works out perfectly,” Patterson said cheerfully. “Well, not that you’re sick. But Weller said I could take the afternoon off as time owed, so I could drive you home, tuck you in, make you some chicken soup if you feel up to it later?”

“No need,” Borden said, too quickly. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Robert, I—”

“Really, I’m sorry, but I’d prefer some time to myself. I’m not feeling up to having company. So if you wouldn’t mind…?” His voice held obvious dismissal.

Patterson was quiet for a moment, and Jane wondered if she was having second thoughts. Then, quietly, she said, “You’re a better liar than I am, but I know you well enough now that I can tell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Robert Borden, you’re under arrest for stealing classified files. Please don’t make me pull my weapon on you.”

As Patterson advanced into the room, Jane stepped into the doorway.

“What are you talking about? What files? I-I don’t understand.” As well as confusion, there was real panic in Borden’s face now—he was probably imagining Shepherd’s wrath. Jane couldn’t blame him—her adopted mother was terrifying when angry.

“Jane saw you do it, Robert. Was our relationship even real, or were you dating me just so it wouldn’t look suspicious that you were in my lab?”

 _Oh, Patterson…_ Jane knew that though their charges were false, Patterson’s insecurity had to be genuine.

“There has to be a mistake. Just let me leave.” Borden grabbed his briefcase, snapped it shut and took a step towards Patterson.

“I’m sorry, Robert.” Patterson pulled her service weapon and aimed it at him. “Please don’t make me shoot you.”

Borden stared from the gun to Patterson, then up to Jane. “There…there has to be a mistake here,” he said again.

Jane gave him an urgent look, and mouthed, _Work with me, Nigel._

Borden’s eyes widened, and for a second he seemed frozen, unsure what to do. Jane nodded at him reassuringly, and his shoulders dropped with feigned resignation.

“All right. I admit it. I’ll come quietly.”

“Jane, would you cuff him, please?”

Jane had grabbed her cuffs at the same time as Patterson had picked up her gun from the locker room. She stepped forward now. “Hands behind your head, please, Dr. Borden.”

Borden complied, his eyes still on Patterson’s gun.

As Jane cuffed him, she added, “Oh, and I’ll be cancelling our next therapy session, if it’s all the same to you.”

Patterson put away her weapon and grabbed her former lover by the arm. “Let’s go.”

As she followed Patterson and Borden down the hallway, Jane wondered if her friend’s heart would ever recover from this betrayal. Then she remembered that she and Kurt had been in very similar positions, not so long ago.

Then again, she and Kurt had worked through this with each other’s support, and they had both had their share of the blame. Patterson was completely innocent in all of this. She and Borden—Thornton—would never recover.

Jane swallowed her guilt and said, “Let’s put him in holding for now. He’s not going anywhere, and we’ve got that crime scene to get to.”

Patterson sighed. “Okay. I don’t really want to wait, but if we don’t get going soon, the NYPD will trample all over everything.”

* * *

Jane returned to Zero Division alone, quiet and pale. “It’s done. He’s in holding.”

“Where’s Patterson?” Zapata asked.

“She didn’t want to tell me.” Jane sat down and covered her face with her hands. “God, this whole mess is my fault. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“Neither do you,” Kurt said, resting his hand on her back.

Jane tried to smile her thanks, but the expression wouldn’t stick. Kurt had to resist the urge to pull her into his embrace and hold her for as long as she needed. He’d already done it once today, and it would be testing the bounds of professionalism to do it again in front of the team.

“I guess now we wait a few hours. It takes that long to finish up at crime scenes, and we made Borden believe we were going to one. Did I miss anything?” Jane asked.

“We decided you should tell Borden that my presence at the FBI is because I’m looking into the CIA’s abuses of power, including your torture, and since the tattoos pointed you to a CIA black site a while back, you’ve read me in on the unsolved tattoos in case more of them point to the CIA.” Nas gave a small shrug. “It’s not a perfect cover story, but I don’t think they’ll question it. And we’re putting together some fake files for our Borden arrest paperwork to refer to.”

“Right. I’ll take a look when you’re done, in case Shepherd wants to know the details. Is there something else I can do while we wait?” Jane fidgeted, and Kurt sensed her need to take her mind off things.

“Unless Patterson gets a tattoo alert soon, we’re just working on Borden’s arrest file, or catching up on other case paperwork.”

Jane nodded, casting an unenthusiastic glance towards her Zero Division desk, and the paperwork that awaited her there.

“Why don’t you take a half-hour to go work out?” he suggested. “Come back with a clearer head?”

Jane didn’t thank him outright, but her face clearly showed her gratitude. “I think that would help. Unless you guys wanted a debrief about what I remembered…?”

Nas took a breath to speak, but Kurt cut her a glance that stopped her from going any further. “It can wait until you get back. The arrest files are more important at the moment,” she said, and turned back to the false file she was creating.

Brushing her hand against Kurt’s arm as she passed, Jane headed for the door.

* * *

Kurt finished up the task he’d been focusing on within ten minutes, then went in search of Jane in the NYO’s gym facilities. As he’d expected, she was viciously attacking a punching bag, her face set in a scowl.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the wall within her line of sight.

Jane gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but didn’t let up.

“You need a picture of Nas’ face for that bag?”

“Wouldn’t say no, if you had one handy,” Jane said, not pausing in her assault.

“She says she hasn’t bugged either of our apartments. I believe her, but I’m gonna get Patterson to check anyway.”

Jane gave the bag one last thwack, then broke off, running her hands through her hair. “I really hope she’s telling the truth, because if she was listening in when we first slept together, or the first time I spent the night at your place, I swear to god, Kurt, I’ll…”

“I know.” He pulled her close, her words increasing his own tension. The idea of anyone else witnessing their most intimate moments was sickening. “I know.”

She was shaking with rage, and he held her tightly until her fury calmed and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, against his shoulder. “It just drives me crazy that not only did she tell Keaton everything I was trying to keep from him while he tortured me, she also listened in to so many of my private thoughts. It’s not right.”

“No. It’s not.”

“I wasn’t even getting that much out of the therapy, because Nas wouldn’t read Borden in on Sandstorm, so I couldn’t even tell him the truth.” Jane deflated a little. “I guess I’d probably be dead by now if she _had_ let me mention the mission. But not allowing me to even tell him it was the CIA who tortured me? That really would have helped me work through things better. And it’s not like Sandstorm don’t know about it anyway.”

They sat together on one of the weight benches, his arm around her. “She won’t be part of our lives forever,” Kurt said, as much for his own sake as Jane’s.

On a day-to-day basis, Nas wasn’t difficult to deal with. He even liked her. But when he remembered how she’d stood by until she’d seen an opportunity she could use, despite how helpful the intel she’d had would have been to Jane, to the team, and especially to Mayfair… That was hard to put aside. On top of that, she’d sat on the revelation that Cade had given her footage of Kurt’s graduation ceremony, citing her need to figure out if he was trustworthy to know that vital detail about his own involvement in Shepherd’s plans. Now Kurt knew she’d also been listening in on Jane’s therapy sessions, any trust he’d had in Nas was rapidly draining away. He didn’t believe for a moment that she’d revealed all her secrets.

Jane sighed. “Nas might not be sticking around after this case, but the memories of recruiting Borden—Thornton—to Sandstorm won’t be going away. Or the memories of what happened after my Orion team was wiped out. That…that whole town, Kurt. They’re all dead because of me.”

“The town blowing up is on Carter, or whoever else ordered that drone strike. Not on you.” He made his voice firm, needing her to believe it.

“I wish I could believe that. But I should have left the Thorntons behind, the moment I was out of danger of dying. I should have gotten out of the whole region.”

“If you’d left while you were still injured, someone might have killed you while you couldn’t defend yourself,” Kurt argued gently.

“Better just me—Remi—than a whole town of innocent people.” Another shudder ran through her. “And who knows how many people Borden has hurt because Remi recruited him?”

It wrenched Kurt’s heart to hear her wish that she hadn’t survived. “Call me selfish, but I’m glad Remi lived long enough to take the ZIP and bring you into my life. I bet the thousands of people whose lives you’ve helped save would agree. What’s done is done, Jane. All we can control is what we do next, right?”

Jane nodded, her haunted expression receding a little as her mind turned from the past to the future. “I’ll get in touch with Roman the moment it’s plausible for me to be able to get away from the FBI. Remi would want Shepherd’s input on this, as soon as possible.”

Kurt nodded. “But first, you should finish your workout. Get out some more of that nervous energy. If you go into the meet with Sandstorm wound too tight, they’re gonna start getting suspicious.”

“Right.” Jane nodded, standing up, but then hesitated. “Kurt? Could I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.” He got to his feet as well, taking her hand.

“Could you make sure Patterson is coping? I want to support her, but she doesn’t want me anywhere near her right now.” Her distress was palpable.

“I don’t think she’s ready to talk to anyone yet. But when she is, I’ll make sure I’m around. I’m sure Tasha and Reade will, too.” He’d planned to check in with Patterson anyway—he’d rarely seen their friend so emotionally closed off. It worried him.

“Thank you.” Jane gave him a quick kiss, then stepped away before he could prolong the affectionate moment. “I’ll be back in Zero Division soon.”


	70. Cages, Cake and Comfort

“You remembered me?”

The agents working in holding were off investigating the baked goods in the break room down the hall. Jane had assured them that she could hold the fort for fifteen minutes while they took a break, and they hadn’t needed much persuading. Now Jane was standing outside Borden’s cell, and he was giving her a look of guarded hope.

“I got a memory of how we met and how I recruited you, just as I was walking down the hall after my session with you. Good thing I did, too. The NSA agent working with us at the moment, Nas Kamal? She’s got bugs all over the place, including in your office, and since I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone it was the CIA who tortured me, she started wondering why you knew about it. How _did_ you know, by the way?”

“If she has bugs all over the place, how do we know she doesn’t have one in here, too?”

Jane flashed him a quick glance of the palm-sized electronic device she was holding. _Thank you, Patterson, for seeing this question coming._ “I stole a signal jammer from the lab. We’re safe to talk.”

None of Patterson’s signal jammers were actually that small—this was actually a sensor of some kind—but Borden didn’t have the electronic expertise to know that. He relaxed, and Jane breathed an inward sigh of relief.

Borden—she just couldn’t think of him as Thornton, not after he’d been Borden for the entirety of her life as Jane—rubbed his forehead and sighed. “It’s the anniversary of my wife’s death today. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I forgot I wasn’t supposed to know it was the CIA who tortured you.”

Jane swallowed hard, guilt welling up within her. “I remembered Chris when I remembered you. I didn’t know today was the anniversary, though. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you say I stole those files?” He glanced nervously towards the door, as though afraid the holding agents would re-enter before he got his answers. “They’ll never let me continue my work here now. Shepherd is going to be _furious_.”

“When Nas started asking questions about you, I had to think fast. If I hadn’t come up with a way for you to have known about the CIA, she might have taken a much longer, harder look at you. This way, we can say a CIA agent approached you when Nas started working here, asking for intel in exchange for cash—or whatever else you want to say they offered you.”

Borden took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll be meeting with Roman after work. He’ll have a message from Shepherd, or he’ll take me to her so we can plan our next steps. We’ll get you through this, Nigel.”

Her former therapist tried to smile. “I appreciate it. Strange how one little slip of the tongue has led to this.”

_No kidding. I’ll have to be doubly careful with Shepherd and Roman now._

Jane pulled some folded papers out from under her shirt. “Take a look at these while I keep watch. It’s what I said you stole, so you’ll have a vague idea of what they’ll be asking you in the interrogation room. They won’t let me help to question you, because I’m the witness, so this is the best I can do.”

While Borden studied the false files the team had put together earlier, Jane paced up and down, not needing to fake her nerves. Zapata and Reade were in the break room, ready to stall the holding agents if need be, but it was still possible another team would bring in a suspect while she was in here. If so, she’d have to come up with a reason for being the only one in here with a suspect, and for giving Borden supposed classified files to study. No one outside their taskforce knew about their operation to take down Sandstorm—Jane would look like a double agent for the wrong side.

“Are you done?”

Borden handed the papers back through the bars, and Jane tucked them back under her shirt.

“Why is this Nas woman bugging my office? What’s her interest in the CIA?”

Jane gave him the cover story she’d come up with, that Nas was working with them in Zero Division to investigate abuses of power in the CIA. As she’d expected, Borden swallowed it.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “Shepherd will know what to do. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. In the meantime, stick to my cover story for you. Your fake identity is good enough that the FBI hired you without an issue. They won’t uncover anything we don’t want them to.”

“Thank you, Remi.”

Jane knew she’d flinched at his use of her old name, and covered it with, “I’m so sorry this had to happen on such a difficult day. If I’d remembered you earlier…”

“These things happen.” Borden leaned against the bars of his cell. “Just, please, ask Shepherd to help.”

Jane nodded. “Do we have any more people inside the FBI who could help? Is it just us?”

“As far as I know, we’re the only ones. But you know how Shepherd is. She doesn’t show her cards if she doesn’t have to, even to her allies.” Borden gestured for her to step back. “You should stand clear of the bars in case the agents come back unexpectedly.”

Jane went to sit on one of the cheap, plastic chairs against the wall, and pulled out her phone in order to look busy. “Why didn’t you tell me you were one of us? I mean, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t, given the NSA bug thing. But if I’d known you knew about Shepherd, and the CIA, my therapy would have been so much more effective.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry about that. I could see you were struggling to find relevance in today’s session. But Shepherd put me in place to monitor your mental state, and to guide you in case you decided you wanted to leave the FBI. I wasn’t allowed to reveal myself.”

Remembering how he’d insisted she didn’t run away from the FBI after Oscar had approached her, Jane groaned. “It seems so obvious now.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say,” Borden said. Then he paused, his expression becoming ashamed. “Is Patterson… Could you ask Patterson to visit me here? I can tell she’s hurt, and I—”

“She needs time,” Jane said, cutting him off.

“Wouldn’t you want to see Weller, if you were in my situation?” Borden persisted. “I know you’re not together—at least, not yet—but…”

“If she wants to see you, she’ll come to you. She’s part of my team, and supporting her is part of my cover. If I start trying to persuade her to come see you, she’ll get suspicious.” _And you don’t get to screw with her head any more than you already have._

“Of course. I only meant…” Borden sighed. “I understand your position.”

_He really started falling for her. Even though his wife’s death still haunts him, he has strong feelings for Patterson. Maybe we can use that._

In the awkward silence that followed, footsteps approached. By the time the holding agents re-appeared, holding slabs of chocolate cake partially wrapped in paper napkins, Borden was sitting at the back of his cell, staring at his feet, and Jane was reading a news article on her phone.

“Thanks, Jane. We owe you one.”

“Hope there’s still a little cake left for me,” Jane joked, standing up.

The agents exchanged a glance. “Uhhhh… There might be if you run. Afreen and Brianna just got there, so there might not be for long.”

Grateful for the chance to escape, Jane darted towards the door. “Thanks for the heads up. I’m gonna see what I can scavenge.”

She did head straight for the break room, just in case the agents mentioned her desire for baked goods to Brianna or Afreen later. There were a couple of slices of cake still there, and as she greeted her colleagues, Jane snagged a piece to take back to Zero Division—not for her, but for Kurt. She wasn’t particularly hungry—lies and manipulation tended to kill her appetite, though she doubted Remi had been afflicted with the same crisis of conscience—but Kurt and his sweet tooth would appreciate her gift.

* * *

“He wants to see me.”

Holding had a video feed, but no audio, so they’d wired Jane up before she’d gone in there. Patterson had somehow synced up the video and audio feed for them earlier, but now she was just tearing herself apart by watching it over and over again, in a side room in Zero Division.

Nas and Zapata were working on interrogating Borden, with Jane and Reade observing from behind the one-way mirror. Knowing they wouldn’t get much in the way of relevant intel out of Borden, since Jane had coached him on what to say, Kurt had taken time out to check on their team’s resident genius.

“This has to be hard on you, Patterson. How are you holding up?”

Patterson hit pause on her video and shrugged. “I dunno. How were you holding up, the day you found out Jane wasn’t Taylor Shaw?”

He sat down opposite her, sighing. “I had a hell of a lot more alcohol, and less composure, than you have right now. But I know that doesn’t mean you’re not hurting like hell.”

“I’m just numb, I guess. Maybe it’ll hit me properly later. But I loved him. I thought he loved me. He _said_ he did.” Her voice trembled a little, and she clenched her jaw.

“Maybe he does.”

Patterson blew out her breath sceptically, rolling her eyes to try to hide the tears in them.

Suppressing his sudden urge to beat Borden into a bloody pulp, Kurt reached for his friend’s hand, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Hey. I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly what you’re going through, because what happened with me and Jane is different. But it’s close, in some ways. The lies, the working behind my back… Before I realised Jane’s intentions were good, I felt so damn angry and betrayed. So if you need to talk, I’m here for you.”

“I—” Patterson faltered, then shook her head. “Part of me keeps trying to make this into something similar to your situation with Jane, even though I know terrorists don’t just switch sides like that. If not for the ZIP, Remi would never have come over to our side. Even if Rob— _Thornton_ did want to leave Shepherd for me, how could I ever trust him? He’s probably killed hundreds or thousands of people. He had a _wife_ and never mentioned her.”

Kurt stayed quiet, hoping she’d continue to vent her emotions.

“And he was using me this whole time. I keep thinking back over everything I told him, trying to figure out if I gave him anything Sandstorm could use against us. But I just keep coming back to all the sweet things he said, and it just kills me.”

Remembering how he’d wondered if Jane had known how much his heart fluttered every time she gazed at him with her big, beautiful eyes, Kurt nodded ruefully. “I know. But even though he was undercover, I’m pretty sure he must have fallen for you, at least a little bit. I saw what he’s like when he’s around you. Maybe it started out with him targeting you, to see what information he could get out of you, but…”

Patterson slumped in her chair. “It doesn’t matter now, either way. He’s burnt—even if he doesn’t know how badly—and I need to get over it, and get on with my job.”

“If you need to take some time off—”

She frowned at him, as though he’d uttered some kind of blasphemous sentiment. “What would I do with time off? Lie around in the bed Borden used to…to bring me breakfast in? Sit and stare at the board games I used to play with David?” She gave him an anguished look. “My life is my work. Every time I try to have a life outside of the lab, something bad happens, so…just let me do my job. Please.”

“Your job? Or rewatching this video multiple times and torturing yourself?” His words were pointed, but he made sure his tone was gentle enough to soften them.

Patterson abruptly closed the laptop she’d been using. “Fine. I’ll go back to my lab—where I can’t watch this video, because it’s classified—and see if I can solve another tattoo.”

Kurt smiled a little. “Sounds like progress.”

She gave him a weak smile in return. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. I mostly just feel stupid that he lied to me. And, y’know, horribly hurt.”

“I know.” He stood up. “There anything I can do?”

Patterson shook her head. “I guess I just need time. Like Jane said on the video.”

“She’s worried about you, you know.”

She gave him a regretful look. “Yeah. And I don’t blame her for all this, not really. I’ll apologise to her later for being harsh. I just… I heard the bad news, and I needed someone to be mad at. So I shot the messenger, I guess.”

Listening to her words, Kurt was again struck by the similarity of what Patterson was going through, and how he’d felt about learning Jane wasn’t Taylor. Arresting her hadn’t been his finest hour. “Sounds familiar.”

Patterson gave the laptop one more glance, then got up from her seat, too. “Hey, maybe we can form our own ‘falling in love with terrorists’ support group.” She winced, as though realising how that would sound to Jane if she overheard. “Not that I actually see Jane as a terrorist now. I know she’s a different case.”

“Even so, if you need to talk about anything, or a shoulder to cry on…you know where I am.”

“Thanks. I, uh… If I let myself cry now, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. But thanks for the offer.”

They headed for the Zero Division exit together. Just as they reached it, Kurt asked, “Are you gonna go see him?”

Patterson shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided. Not… Not today, at least.”

“You’re gonna get through this, Patterson. We’ve all got your back. Even Nas…as much as she has anyone’s back but her own.”

Shooting him a half-amused glance, she said, “I’m _for sure_ sweeping everywhere I go for NSA bugs, after her little confession today. Want me to check your apartment and Jane’s safehouse after work?”

“If you’re up to it. I’m almost sure you won’t find anything, but now the idea’s in my head…”

“Yeah. I’ll come by later.”

Kurt pulled Jane’s spare safehouse key off his keychain and handed it over. “For Jane’s place.”

She thanked him and began to step back, towards the door.

“Patterson?”

She gave him an expectant look.

“Don’t let this get under your skin more than it already has. Anything he took from you—intel or otherwise—that’s his fault. You couldn’t have known.”

Patterson nodded. “Thank you, Kurt. Really.”

As he watched her go, he wondered if this case had any more ugly surprises in store, any more emotional scars to leave on his team. For all their sakes, he hoped not.


	71. A New Therapist

“Why didn’t you tell me that Borden was one of us?” were the first words out of Jane’s mouth when she got into Roman’s car.

He shot her a startled glance, then pulled into traffic. “You had a new memory, huh?”

“Yeah. Brought on by him screwing up and revealing that he knew the CIA were the ones who tortured me, while the NSA agent currently working alongside my team was listening to my therapy session.”

Roman’s brows drew together. “Shepherd needs to know about this. The bag for your head is in the glove box.”

“Great,” Jane muttered, pulling the bag out of the compartment and turning it over in her hands. “Can I at least wait until we’re out of the city before I put it on?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

Jane sighed and put the bag over her head.

As they drove, Roman asked, “Why do you seem so pissed at me?”

“I could have really used Borden’s help to heal from the PTSD. Maybe we could have met away from the NYO for some real, honest therapy sessions, where I didn’t have to hide who I am and what the CIA did to me.”

“It was Shepherd’s call to keep it from you. I did suggest we loop you in, but Shepherd didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not? Was she trying to keep tabs on me? She doesn’t trust me, after everything I’ve suffered through for her?”

Roman sighed. “She wanted to make sure you didn’t go too far over to the FBI’s side. If you’d started making inferences that you wanted to talk about Aurora, Thornton would tell Shepherd, and we’d pull you out before you did something we’d all regret.”

Jane opened her mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but then his words registered. “Aurora? That’s the name of the lake you took me to, right? The poisoned one?”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could hear Roman cursing under his breath.

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Why would I talk to Borden—Thornton—about that?” _Why is that important to Shepherd?_

“You wouldn’t. Forget it.”

Jane resisted the urge to rip the bag off her head to get a better look at him. He’d just let something slip that Shepherd didn’t want her to know. She had to figure out what it was.

A few moments of turning over his words in her head, and she thought she had the answer. “Aurora is the name of our group, isn’t it? Why did Shepherd name us after that lake?”

Roman groaned. “I can’t talk about this, and you know it.”

“That chemical leak happened in the sixties. That would only make Shepherd a kid when it happened, so she couldn’t have been involved in the activism at the time. Did she have family out there?”

Roman was silent for a long time. Jane went quiet, too, hoping that if she didn’t push his buttons too hard, he’d open up.

After the car came to a stop, he yanked the bag off her head with unexpected violence. “Don’t let Shepherd know I screwed up. I covered for you when you wouldn’t kill Kantor. Cover for me with this.”

Jane nodded. “I won’t say anything, I swear. But Roman…was I right about Shepherd losing family because of that spill?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “The government took bribes from the corporation instead of making the assholes fix the what they’d done. Shepherd’s whole family got cancer. She did, too. Had to have both her ovaries removed when she was seventeen. She was the only one who beat it. No family left but us, and she couldn’t ever have biological kids of her own.”

 _God, that’s awful._ Even knowing that Shepherd was planning something terrible in retaliation for the corruption that had taken away her whole family, Jane couldn’t help but feel sorry for her adopted mother. _At least now I know why she’s so angry at the world._

“Why did you take me out there, if I wasn’t supposed to know?” she asked softly. “Did Shepherd approve it?”

“No. She was pissed when someone told her I did it. But I wanted you to get a sense of what we were fighting against. How are you supposed to stay on our side if you don’t know what kinds of atrocities the status quo is feeding?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I got chewed out for it, but I’m glad I took you there. You have to understand.”

“I’m glad you did, too. That kind of thing can’t keep being allowed to happen.” Jane didn’t have to fake the hardness to her tone. Her opinion of the Lake Aurora incident hadn’t changed since she’d verbally lashed out at Kurt and Nas about it. It was an outrage.

Roman smiled. “There’s the Remi we know and love. Come on. Shepherd’s gonna want to know what happened with Thornton.”

* * *

Kurt was almost asleep on the couch, perilously close to losing his place in the latest Winston Pear mystery, when Jane returned to the apartment. He shrugged off his drowsiness in a hurry as she spoke his name, urgency in her tone and the light of discovery in her eyes.

His pulse leapt as he rose from his seat. He’d never seen her looking even halfway optimistic when she’d returned from her meetings with Sandstorm before. Had they finally caught some kind of break?

“Roman slipped up tonight.” Jane quickly filled him in on her deduction that Shepherd’s organisation went by the name ‘Aurora’. “If Shepherd didn’t want me to know this, there must be a reason. They could use Aurora as a codename over the phone, in emails, social media—everywhere the NSA monitors. Nas might be able to use that.”

Kurt nodded, already reaching for his laptop. “I’ll send her an encrypted email now. I don’t want to risk calling her after you just got in, just in case. This late at night, it’d look suspicious.”

Jane nodded, seeming unwilling to sit down. She paced instead, radiating nervous energy. “Shepherd bought the Borden story. She and Roman are both pissed, and a little rattled. I had to answer a lot of questions about Nas’ role and what the scope of her investigation is.”

Kurt glanced up, concerned. “You’re sure she wasn’t trying to trick you, get at the inconsistencies in your story?”

Jane thought about it, then shook her head. “Shepherd hates it when things don’t go her way. Her ego gets bruised and she’s easier to fool. For now, she believes Borden’s under arrest for stealing classified files that told him I was tortured by the CIA—just like we wanted. In a few days, she might start to pull things apart, though.”

“We’ll look at everything again in the morning, patch up any cracks in the story.” He quickly finished his email to Nas, then looked up. “What does she want you to do about Borden?”

“Nothing, for now. She wants me to report on what happens with his interrogation, and she’ll decide what to do with him over the next couple of days.” Uneasily, Jane stared into space, as though picturing Shepherd in her mind. “I guess it depends what Borden says. If he looks like he’s about to flip. I doubt he will, since he knows Shepherd will be watching him through me, but maybe she wants to make sure.”

After making sure there weren’t any more details Nas would need to know before the following day, Kurt sent the email and pushed aside the laptop. “You okay?”

“About as okay as I always am after meeting with Shepherd.” With a shaky sigh, Jane leaned against him. “This is progress, though, right? It feels like we’ve been spinning our wheels, waiting for something to happen. This thing with Borden might finally be the break we need, if we can play it right.”

“Yeah.” Kurt wrapped his arms around her, letting go of some of the tension he’d been holding since she’d left to meet Roman. _She’s home. She’s safe._ “I hope so.”

Jane nodded, nestling deeper into his embrace, as though she was just as relieved that she was home. It made him wonder how she was coping, and how she’d fare now her therapist was in a holding cell.

After a few moments of silence, Kurt spoke again. “How are you feeling? I know you didn’t get as much out of your sessions with Borden as you wanted, but…”

“Finding out he was my Sandstorm-sanctioned therapist has shaken me up a little,” Jane admitted. “I could have blown my cover without even realising it, and walked straight into a trap.”

Kurt tightened his embrace, the thought sending a chill through his blood. Any one of the times she’d met with Roman and Shepherd could have been her last. It was only sheer luck that she’d kept Borden from suspecting she was a double agent.

A subtle shudder went through Jane, and he kissed the top of her head, wishing he could read her mind. “Talk to me,” he said softly.

Jane shrugged out of his embrace and stood up. “I just want to forget about this whole thing for a while. I’m gonna go get ready for bed.”

Kurt watched her retreat towards the bedroom, conflicted. He could understand her not wanting to dwell on her mission or the day’s events more than necessary, but now that she had no therapist, she’d have no outlet for the darkness inside her head. It wasn’t as though they could find her another, either. This mission was so strictly classified that only the core team and Pellington knew its true depths. And, as Borden had already proved, Shepherd had her hooks deep into every part of the life she’d known Remi would take up.

It might strain their relationship, but as Jane’s partner and her handler, he had to insist.

He found Jane in the bathroom, blankly staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Hey.”

She forced a smile and picked up her toothbrush. “Sorry. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Kurt pressed a kiss to her temple and headed to the bedroom, changing into a T-shirt and sweatpants while he waited for her to emerge. When she did, he pulled back the covers of the bed and beckoned for her to join him.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said, once she was tucked up against his side.

Jane instantly tensed up. “Something tells me I’m not gonna like this.”

“Maybe not. But it’s important, so hear me out.”

She nodded, waiting.

“You have to talk to me, Jane. Or, if not me, at least one of the others on the team. With Borden out of play as a therapist, you’re gonna need help dealing with all this.”

Jane was already shaking her head before he’d gotten halfway through his statement. “I’m fine. I’ll deal with it on my own.”

“I wish I could let you choose to do that, but this isn’t just a personal conversation. It’s half to do with work.”

She stared at him, her walls already high, and getting higher by the second. “You’re pulling rank on me? Kurt—”

“I’m sorry, Jane. I really am. But if you won’t talk to me or one of the team, I’ll talk to Nas about pulling the plug on this mission.”

She recoiled. “You can’t do that! I don’t get immunity if I don’t bring down Sandstorm. Even if the CIA don’t swoop back in, my life will never be my own.”

“If the alternative is you ending up so stressed and burnt out that you’re jeopardising yourself and the mission—”

“Is this about me? Or about getting Shepherd, and taking your pat on the back from Pellington?” she interrupted, hurt and fury radiating from her.

“How can you ask me that?” he said sharply, wounded by her implication. “Jane, every time you leave to meet Roman, I’m scared it will be the last time I see you alive. This isn’t about stopping Shepherd. It’s about keeping you breathing for long enough to get through this.”

Jane took a breath to retort, but he put up his hand, stopping her. “I’m not trying to throw my weight around, here. I _know_ that you’re barely keeping your head above water right now, and I can’t just watch you struggle until you go under. After we get Shepherd, and you’re not at risk of having your cover blown anymore, we can get you another therapist and you never have to talk to me about your PTSD again, if that’s what you want. But until then…”

He sighed, giving up. Either she’d see the sense in his request, or she’d shut him out. “I can’t force you to tell me anything. But I just want to help, Jane. Please.”

Something in his face or his tone must have gotten through to her. The anger draining away from her expression, Jane rubbed her hand over her eyes. “You already deal with the nightmares, the panic attacks… That’s more than enough. If I lean on you any more than I already have, I-I’m afraid I’ll break us.”

“I love you, Jane.” He took her hand gently. “And this is only a temporary solution, while we deal with Shepherd. After that, we can look at therapists, sleeping meds, whatever you need. But until then, I just want to keep you from going under, any way I can. Will you let me try?”

Jane swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve you, Kurt,” she half-whispered.

“No, you deserve better. But you get me, and unless you decide you’re done with me, I’m right here.” He pulled her into his arms again, his heart wrenching when she gave a muffled sob against his chest. “Tell me what you were thinking earlier, in the living room.”

For a long moment, she didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Then the resistance sapped out of her, and she confessed, “I feel so out of my depth. Like I’m afraid to move in any direction, in case it’s the wrong one. Shepherd still won’t let me into her inner circle, and I’m so scared I’ll say something, or _do_ something, that gives me away. So many lives are depending on me, and things could have gone so wrong with Borden. I can’t afford another mistake like this. I can’t.”

“Roman and Shepherd are just as likely to make mistakes as you are. Roman proved that tonight. So did Borden, earlier today. It’s just a matter of time until we get something big, something we can use to end this for good.”

“I want to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but every second I spend pretending to be Remi… It feels like it’s tainting me. When I dream, half the time I’m the one doing terrible things to other people. I feel like I’m more confused than ever, not about who I was, but about who I am _now._ ”

Kurt kissed the top of her head. “If you need me to remind you, just ask. Because I know exactly who you are, Jane. And you’re not in any danger of going back to being Shepherd’s puppet.”

“Maybe not. But this undercover assignment would have been hard without the PTSD. Now it just feels like every day, the pressure gets worse, and there’s a voice in my head that’s just pleading with me to make it stop…”

As she trailed off into distressed silence, Kurt stroked her hair. _I’m sorry, Jane. I’m so sorry._ “If I could do this instead of you, I would. I wish like hell that I could take this off your shoulders.”

“That would be worse.” She sat up, reaching out to trace her hand over his jaw. “None of this means anything if I lose you, Kurt. When I first got out of the black site, all I cared about was finding Shepherd and finding out what her plans were. But now, I just want this to end. To stop it and take a breath, so I can start enjoying my life with you. And when I think about this is all being over, but you being gone, or wanting to move on without me, I…”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she hung her head, her frustration plain. “I’m not explaining this well.”

Kurt struggled for words, concern and overwhelming love stealing his voice. Anything he could have said would have sounded hollow and insufficient. After a couple of seconds, he gave up trying to verbalise his feelings and tugged her into an emphatic kiss, the gesture speaking more eloquently than he ever could.

Jane returned the embrace as though she understood and shared his inability to express himself, sliding her fingers into his close-cropped hair and pressing closer, kissing harder. After long, dizzying moments, they broke off, both breathing hard from emotions far more powerful than physical desire.

“This is…not what I expected from a therapy session,” she told him, laughing a little, as though the moment was too intense for her to do anything but break the tension.

Kurt finally found the words he’d been searching for. “You can worry about Sandstorm, about your nightmares, about the future… But never worry that I’ll walk away from you, Jane. Because I won’t.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “That makes things…easier.”

“I know you have to carry so much of this alone. But whatever you need to pass on to me… I’m strong enough to take it.” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s starting to get late. Think you can fall asleep?”

Jane looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. “I actually had a few more things I wanted to say. Just not with my voice.”

Kurt leaned in and gave her a soft, brief kiss. “I’m listening.”

“You might want to cancel all the rest of your appointments, Dr. Weller. This might take a while.” Despite her teasing tone, he sensed the plea beneath her words. _Distract me. Love me. Please, Kurt._

There were so many things their situation prevented her from helping her with, but this—this, he could handle.


End file.
